One of my earliest memories is of coloring at the kitchen table in our Thousand Oaks house and singing Whitney Houston’s “The Greatest Love of All” to myself. I was five years old and imagined my voice sounded just as beautiful as Whitney’s. Anyone observing would have seen a sweet little girl entertaining herself with no suspicion that anything was awry. The other part of this memory and the thing that probably has contributed to this particular tune being a haunting life-long ear worm is that while I was singing this song, coloring alone at the kitchen table, I was imagining being observed. I had recently been allowed to watch Nightmare on Elm Street with my dad and sisters, so Freddy was on my mind. I felt that since I was alone in the room and it was dark out, there was a possibility that Freddy could be watching me and waiting to cut me up. As I sang, I imagined Freddy Kreuger hearing how sweet and endearing my voice sounded and deciding that I was too precious to kill, and I guess wandering off to some other house to kill some other person who wasn’t singing quite as well. Happy Valentine’s Day.