The good-looking one, the one in need, the one that almost was
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Returning to these pages is Cindy Crossen.
Last month, the Vatican named its first American saint — a woman, Elizabeth Ann Seton. It’s appropriate that this honor was bestowed upon a woman, for in America, it seems, one needs to be a saint to be a woman, to maintain a flow with God and a harmony with men.
I came to Tree House because I was under so much pressure at home I was about to have a breakdown. My family had broken up and I was living with my mother and my brother. My father had found another woman and had a child by her before he was divorced from my mother and married to the other woman. He took his time and waited until the little girl was nine, living at their house, sleeping at ours.
Before I went traveling I lived in a house where we banned the word “Enlightenment.” At the time it was the impossible, unreachable, unfathomable dream, and I suppose we couldn’t take the pressure of being held up to our Goal, being only human as we were.