By John W. Whitehead
When I was a boy, like most children, I was into everything and everybody’s business.
Full of mischief, I was constantly getting into scrapes. All I had to do was walk out the door and trouble found me—or vice versa. But I never got away with anything because inevitably, by the time I arrived back home, my parents had already been alerted by the neighbors to my goings-on and were waiting to light into me.
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