Resident Alien: My Life With Autism
Kersten (right) and her sister (Photo provided by Kersten Marchese) By Kersten Marchese “Earnhardt?” “Three.” “Earnhardt Jr.?” “Eight.” “Waltrip?” “Fifteen.” I excitedly bounced up and down, as my dad beamed down at me with pride. This, I was good at. I could remember the race car drivers' numbers after only hearing them once.