It's interesting that in 6th grade I wrote a story for a competition called My Molly. The narrator was a boy that had a farm girl neighbor named Molly. I remember that I wrote her braids were too tight and it made her have a temper.

While reading My Antonia I felt a kinship to this book. I thought why has it taken me so long to discover.

I found it intriguing to be written by a woman with a male narrator. It added something I cannot pinpoint. A fascinating perspective, one I could stand behind and relate to. I don't usually understand the male mind.