A Confession: My First Act of Vandalism

The ridiculous beginnings of my life of crime.

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When I was, I think, ten years old I found out that I had an aunt who was also ten years old. Through some drama I wouldn’t understand until I was a tax-paying adult, an invisible grandfather created a distant branch in the family tree that included a tiny twig about my age. I was furious.

Aunt implied older, and older implied better. Or worse, taller.

Looking back, I can see how seriously I took my role as oldest kid. I was not only the first kid in my immediate family, but the first grandchild on both sides. No offense, but I was kind of a star.

My claim to fame, in my pea-sized brain, would be nothing if there was a middle schooler out there with a “better” familial title.