Growing up I always lived in two houses. Generally they were divided by the Delaware River, one home on the Pennsylvania side, and one on the New Jersey side. I also moved around a lot but I always lived walking distance from the Delaware, so it became the only consistent landmark of my childhood. Almost everyday I crossed this body of water, whether I was driving to school or switching between houses. I grew up swimming in it, rowing on it, tubing, bathing, fishing, playing, even polar bear plunging in it. One time, when I was about 3, my dad and I were hiking along an adjacent stream as we normally did, looking for or building a path to cross to the other side. But on this particular day I slipped and fell into the frozen water. My dad picked me up and quickly carried me back to the car, my fingers and toes burning from the kiss of the cold as I sobbed. Now here I am, bathing in the frozen stream that once connected to the river I grew up on. Reminiscing of carefree childhood mistakes, terror from the burn of the frozen water, and the unpleasantness of washing my hair on a regular basis because of my Alopecia Areata. This is the first time in two months that I washed my hair, a causal occurrence.

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