When I was one.

During recess, at good ol' St. Dom's, in the parking lot of the chapel, my dad walked through a sea of yellow and green plaid polyester uniforms. He found my sister. "You have a little sister!" Supposedly she jumped in the air higher than Michael Jordan.

Throughout the entire pregnancy my sister, Maria, had prayed that I would be a girl. While she loves our brother, she desperately wanted me to be a girl. This memory of March 14, 1977, when she was nine, is one of her most vivid.

This is how I started life.

When I was two:

Theodore Roosevelt Park would become a staple of my life. Even now, at 28, I always visit when I'm home, no matter what the season. The beach is the part of the park I hold most dear. My mom took all three of us. Maria was holding me on the floating dock where mom loves to fish. Not wise with a two year old who was quickly in the water. My mother is petrified and deaf in one ear due to a boating accident and froze with fear. Maria jumped in to save me.

Life continues.

When I was three:

Because both of my parents were ill, and both worsened at the same time thus spending time in the hospital, I went to stay with "Aunt Dawn-. It wasn't far from my own home, except I couldn't sleep in my own bed, they used Romano instead of Parmesan, and my siblings weren't there. I don't know for how long I was there, but years later when I told my mom I wanted to go visit with them, she got upset and told me the truth. "Aunt Dawn"had made me start calling her "mommy-.

Identity crisis?

When I was four:

I remember vividly my mom bringing me a huge bottle of bubbles on her return from yet another stay in the hospital. She drove me to pre-k and I brought my bubbles for playtime. I put them neatly in a cubby (they were communal). After nap, Christi Campo started screaming that they were hers. As is the way with teachers and rich kids with obnoxious parents, Christi was given my bubbles. When her mom came to pick her up, she brought Christi's bubbles, which had been forgotten in the car. A private triumph.

Money has power.

When I was five:

Just like my older sister, I started my education at St. Dominic's. Not that kindergarten can really be considered education, but we actually did do work: had math and writing notebooks. Kindergarten was where I met Rachel. We would sit together on the bus in the afternoon, talking about our piano teachers, sharing the music we were studying. In the morning Rachel didn't ride the bus. Her parents didn't like the idea of us riding with the high school kids. But because our day was a half day, there were none in the afternoon.

Friendship begins.

When I was six:

My parents thought it best, because I was musically gifted, that I attend public school. They had apparently forgotten the huge issues in my town between those who favored Catholic education, and those who preferred public. And for some reason, even though my parents were far more open-minded than most (they had a child in each), I was immediately branded. My first grade teacher, who'd always had a reputation as one of the best, was cruel to me. Reading since three, she put me in the Robins instead of the Bluebirds. How absurd.

My first hate.

When I was seven:

In second grade I sat next to a boy named Timothy. We had an odd friendship. Sometimes we were friends, pals, buddies, playmates, and other times I couldn't stand him. He was kind of an odd duck, but had something really good about him inside. My teacher, Mrs. Kegg, had some really whacked ideas about gender and I remember that one time Timothy would simply not share the dictionary given to each pair. I asked him nicely, the teacher nicely, but received no dictionary. That night I called his mother.

A teacher in my future life?

When I was eight:

In Mrs. Johnson's class I sat next to a boy named Efrain. He was one of those kids that lie constantly. Not to save his ass, but for no reason. And to tell incredible stories... like how he fell off the swing-set and his brain fell out of his head and he was forced to hold it on his lap in the ambulance. In college Christa called to say she had met a guy that knew me from elementary school. Efrain S------. I duly warned her and she quickly learned.

A leopard doesn't change spots.

When I was nine:

Fourth grade with Mr. Bloom was the year of awakening. Meredith was an only child; her parents rather forward-thinking. And so I learned a great deal that year. That there is no Santa, no Easter Bunny, and, most importantly, I learned about sex. Hearing this from Meredith in the sunny light near a window in the back corner of the library (our favorite place to hang) was both comforting and shocking. Better than hearing it from my parents (who had not and never would even attempt, thank God). Thanks, Meredith.

This step toward adulthood frightened me.

When I was ten:

Mr. Clinger was my reading teacher. He must have been horrified when he saw the last name, which was unusual. Up until this point, when people saw the name, they'd ask, "Maria's your older sister?"and be thrilled. Not Mr. Clinger, though... he'd had Maria in drivers' ed. Oh, how she hated him. She would purposely drive too close to trees so that branches would come in and scratch him, and do other things just to make him reach for the Pepto. In turn, he was vicious to me.

Maria: black spot on the Czarniecki Legacy?

When I was eleven:

One of my mother's friends moved away from Oyster Bay before her husband died. They resettled in Sandgate, Vermont (a tiny town just south of Arlington). After her husband died she met and married a man who owned a horse farm. During February break of sixth grade we went to visit. Up the road from Mary & Ed's there lived a man who was completely environmentally friendly. So much, so, that he had built this eco-friendly house. It looks like an opalescent igloo, but with less structure... like something from Dr. Seuss.

I am the Lorax.

When I was twelve:

Public high school was not an option, as made very clear by my parents. It was St. Anthony's, but in order to get in I had to do seventh and eighth grade in Catholic school... so back to St. Dom's it was. My parents were going through some sort of major psychoses at the time and because of this I was fairly miserable. I hated my parents fiercely... my dad for good reason... mom was simply not coping well and it manifested as vicious anger. The girls were so bitchy.

But at least I had Rachel.

When I was thirteen:

This was the year of Jill. Jill, who had moved out to Oyster Bay from Queens, and I connected. She lived in one of those gigantic houses in SG but didn't fit the part. A few houses down lived everyone's biggest crush: MM. His house was smaller, but the ego huge. That particular night he decided to acknowledge our existence (oooooh, a high school boy). We all hung out, acted ridiculously "cool-, tried to outdo each other... I can no longer remember the first, but I do remember a great deal of kissing that night.

Eiuw.

When I was fourteen:

Each year, the OBHS musical would be performed around my birthday. My fourteenth birthday, it was the same night. For a few months I had been flirting with a boy who worked at the Harbourside deli where we'd stop for a drink after tennis. During intermission I saw him in the lobby. He immediately smiled the smile I knew from Saturday mornings. We started to see each other, and after 2 weeks he told me he loved me (ah, teenagers). Five months of bliss, even my first (and only) prom.

The first cut is the deepest.

When I was fifteen:

It started almost like the flu. It was a rainy, cold day, and I was a little achy, feeling a fever coming on. My parents were going to church; mom looked concerned as she came into the tv room where I sat in the recliner under three blankets, "I think I'm sick." The nightmare that ensued would keep me out of school the rest of the year. Weekly blood tests, constant headaches, non-stop fatigue. No friends, leaving the house, being awake for more than a few hours at a time.

The worst year of my life.

When I was sixteen:

I was finally feeling better and decided to play a light game of tennis with my mom. I lost my footing. Instead of allowing myself to fall naturally (as all athletes know to do) I resisted. The result? A large cracking noise, me screaming, and two old men (doctors) running over from two courts down to assess the damage. At the ER we learned it was severely broken in three places. I spent the summer on crutches, even my annual visit to my sister's in Philly. I hated the crutches.

All I wanted was summer love.

When I was seventeen:

Who knew spending the summer at the July Program would end up shaping the rest of my life. Mr. Abernathy, my English teacher, called them to get me an application and talked me into going. It was hard to leave because of the typical teenage uncertainties of leaving behind friends, but it was just a month, and I took the plunge. A strange environment of college professors, free-thinkers and sexual ambiguity greeted me. But I learned, made friends, and realized who I was as a thinker, a writer and a person.

And now I live here.

When I was eighteen:

The night of June 16th we had a midnight showing of Batman at the theatre. It was opening the next day, but we were granted one of Long Island's midnight previews. As soon as it started our boss sent most of us home. We went to our favorite spot in Huntington (close to what would become, almost 10 years later, my dog's favorite spot) for what we'd be planning since I'd graduated two weeks before. I kept insisting he was doing it wrong. Couldn't be right. No freaking way this was it.

So... this was sex?

When I was nineteen:

Arriving home after completing my freshman year at Siena it was time to take up the legacy my sister had left behind and start working at the Mill River Country Club. For three summers I would do it, and yes, the money was great, but it was a horrifically demeaning job. People with money can be disgusting. Sure, some of them were nice, but let's face it, that's not who I remember. I remember people who assumed I spoke Spanish, and were shocked we attended college. It sucked.

But I kept reminding myself of the money.

When I was 20:

Although I loved spending my summers at the country club (yeah, sure) I was dying to spend a summer as an R.A. at the Bennington College July Program. I was finally old enough, applied, interviewed and received the job. It would be an interesting summer of late nights, having to "be the grownup-, and night watches through the spooky woods of the college. Three people would enter my life that summer... two of whom are still a present force while the third flickers in and out at whim.

It was one of my best summers yet.

When I was 21:

I can tell you that I was writing a paper. But I can't tell you what paper it was. I had a great deal on my mind. Earlier in the semester I had gone home in the middle of the night because my dad had had another heart attack... yes, he had hung on all these years. I was back at school, though, it was a Tuesday and he was doing better, supposed to be coming home soon. The phone rang, I answered. I said hello; heard nothing. I knew before Maria spoke.

He was gone.

When I was 22:

"Nance?-

"Ugh..."I moaned turning back over. It was February break and all I wanted was sleep.

"Did you hear a baby crying last night?"My best friend asked me. She had spent the night as she did about once a month.

"You're on crack, there are no babies in the building.-

Walking around the apartment looking for Chloe (my newly adopted female cat) I heard words that I wasn't wanting to, "Holy shit, Nance, she had kittens!" It was February 22nd; if you've caught the theme this month that should mean something.

Happy Birthday, Spike.

When I was twenty-three:

My first summer after my first year teaching was supposed to be spent visiting the beach, seeing friends, having sleepovers with Melanie, and having a blast with the him. Of course right before the summer began he finally admitted he still had feelings for her. He'd visited her monthly our entire relationship, about which he was disgustingly honest. He'd immediately drive home from her place and find himself into my bed, not noticing how disgustingly skinny I was getting from the constant stress he caused.

Who knew some day I'd find someone who'd treat me well.

When I was twenty-four:

My principal, Barbara, was an idiot. She went through stages where she absolutely loved certain teachers. I've always been wary of those who play favorites (it's a dangerous thing) so I was especially dismayed when she picked me as flavor-of-the-month. Considering that she would later correct me in front of my class as I was teaching the 50 states (There are 52, Miss ZAR-nuh-kee!) (it's zar-NECK-ee!!!), being held in high esteem by her wasn't something I wanted. She placed me on the District Literacy Leadership Team.

Most didn't know the difference between a plural and possessive.

When I was twenty-five:

In April we went to Bennington for the weekend. On the way up I stopped to see my good friend, Dr. Ware, at Siena. Neil, Jared and I had done a presentation about teaching in NYC schools earlier that school year and I wanted to see Dr. Ware to find out if we'd tempted anyone to give it a whirl. Over lunch he kept pushing about some job openings at Mt. Anthony Union Middle School. Quietly, for weeks, I contemplated this chance at escape, but never thought I'd do it.

In July I packed my bags.

When I was twenty-six:

Working with C. was probably the hardest thing I've done. I lost faith in my administration, and in the teachers with whom I worked; everyone turned a blind eye. A 20-something male teacher shouldn't hug, link arms when walking down the hall, eat lunch with and visit the classes of a female student.. As much as I liked him; adored his sense of humor and wanted him to be happy, he turned my stomach. Countless reports and a lying superintendent, "He'll never teach again... and I called New York.-

Yet he has a classroom in Troy.

When I was 27:

I just got tired. Tired of being with someone who couldn't say they loved me unless the relationship was in crisis. Of being lied to and treated like an idiot. Of being blown off for weeks at a time for happy-hour, geocaching, trips to see friends, and then being complained to about how much I was missed. Of 11 o'clock phone calls when he knew how early I woke up. Of proofreading documents for his job. Of not being excited seeing his number on my phone.

Of waking up thinking, "I don't even LIKE him anymore.-

There are 28 days in February and today is the last of the 28. Why is that significant? It's the last full month I'll be 28-years-old as I will be turning 29 two weeks from today. I thought I would do a themed month, writing about the stories I've heard of each year of my life and the things I remember. Of course there is so much more to a life than the 2800 words that will appear here, but somehow I still feel I've left my mark. "What happened this year?"you ask? Lots. But what's most important? Kris.