Where the Wild Things Were

Whenever my boys act up in public, I feel like the karma train has hit me. My younger brother and I were often “wild” when the family took an outing and were always scolded by my mother to stop whatever it was we were doing (which was usually just picking on each other). In department stores we would hide in the clothes racks or loiter in the toy aisles long enough to get lost. In supermarkets we’d fight over who got to squeeze into the cart’s bottom shelf or play hide-and-seek. One time we took turns in a restaurant nonchalantly pacing the floor while selectively stamping on a ketchup packet. We finally succeeded and exploded that thing all over the walls and whoever had walked by. Yes, my parents (and my two sisters) were saints for putting up with us boys. At least I know what to expect.