As a kid, I remember starting most summer days with the announcement, “I’m gonna go play!” as I walked out the front door. Going to play could have meant anything from creating a chalk-art masterpiece on the sidewalk in front of my house to stalking lizards on the train tracks behind the bowling alleys. I might have made a pit stop at home to grab a drink, but I was just as likely to hijack a neighbor’s hose for its thirst quenching properties.
My mother broke every plate in the house that day. I wasn’t surprised that she was frustrated and angry, but she had always been a yeller, never a thrower or breaker. This was something new.