In high school, I was a bit of a punk, a metalhead and a hell-raiser. I dressed the part. I could usually be seen glumly strolling the halls of school decked in a patchwork leather coat, studded black boots, and brightly colored spikes in my hair jutting at least five inches off my head. I'm sure as all teens, I was trying to find my identity, while pushing as many buttons as I could along the way. After high school, I was visiting my grandmother, looking around her well ordered and cleaned condo. I was looking at all the pictures of me and my sister. But something seemed amiss. I asked her if this was all the pictures.
"No," she replied. "I haven't received any pictures from you in the last four years."
"What do you mean? I send you my school pictures every year. Didn't you get them?"
"Oh we got
those. We didn't keep them...I thought they were supposed to be a joke."
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