If you’re a regular reader of this column, it might seem to you that 110 Flamingo Street had been the perfect place to grow up — a place where nothing ever went wrong, no one got into trouble, and parents were always forgiving.
Well, I got news for you: things did, we did, and no, they weren’t.
When we got caught doing things we shouldn’t, our parents punished us. I remember the first time Dad told me to march myself outside and pick out a switch. What happened next wasn’t planned, but I’ve never forgotten it. Read More»