Instead, he gave kids a short multiple-choice test, the Mickey Mouse kind sold in bookstores. Trouble was: Gary had no real training or authority to be administering IQ tests. The gifted and talented club was invitation only - Gary's invitation, that is. Some days Gary would oversee an after-school activity.
Inevitably, a few of his favored 10-year-old students would still be hanging around - joking with him or sitting on his lap. Every day at 3 p.m., as soon as the bell rang, I was expected to climb those stairs and report to Gary's desk. My classroom was on the first floor of the elementary building - just a staircase away from Gary. Being polite means keeping one's mouth shut.Īnd so I, the newly minted Mooch Lundquist, became a third grader at Delaware Township School. But social norms dictate that we do not insert ourselves into other people's personal lives. No one seemed to care that my school records displayed a different name or that Gary was not my legal guardian. In 1976 no one seemed to question any of this.
Now, with the flick of a pen, I was Mooch (a nickname) Lundquist, daughter of Gary, new student at his out-of-state school.
Since birth, I had been Michelle Brechbill. In Michelle Stevens' powerful, just-published memoir, Scared Selfless, she shares how she overcame horrendous child sexual abuse and mental illness to lead a satisfying and happy life as a successful psychologist, wife and mother.
