What's Scary

My now eight year old daughter was in preschool for a couple of days a week to give me a break—and some time to do some writing. This always seemed to work out well for both of us.

Except when she was two. That's when separation anxiety kicked into high gear. Her poor teacher that year was a sunny, small, smiling, blonde mother of two. Mrs. Heinz would greet my daughter in a cheerful voice. My daughter would scream bloody murder and cling to me in a way that necessitated her being pulled ...