I have been drawn to young-adult books lately, moving away from my usual diet of non-fiction.

Why?

I have told myself it is because they are entertaining, compelling, and easy to read.

But last week, after I finished yet another story about a boy who battled a long list of troubles no kid should have to face, I did some math and it led me to confirm another theory.

Here is a snapshot of my life from 1963 to 1966 while living in California’s Ventura County:

–Eight moves, including five in my family’s old 50-by-8 home on wheels.

–Six schools, beginning as a sixth-grader (as in this picture) through the beginning of my freshman year in high school. I changed schools three times (including a boomerang) in sixth grade, when Mom and Dad separated. My mom, little brother, and I moved back to the trailer with Dad just months later. Then three junior high schools.

The eighth move took us out of the trailer into the relative luxury of a small apartment. I was lost as a new kid once again, this time at Oxnard High School. Then Dad left–for good–and I celebrated. I know I probably shouldn’t say that.

So what does all this have to do with my reading preferences?

I identify. With poor, nerdy characters who are easy targets. With kids who move so often they learn self-preservation by avoiding close friendships. With kids from split homes.

Like most of the characters who capture my interest (and my heart), I survived. Well, way more than that, actually. My best-friend-ever Sue and I have been married 40 years, raising three sons who make us proud.

Meanwhile, I am hooked by yet another book about a middle-school kid. He’s struggling, but I am pulling for him. I know he can overcome.