I was a perfect child—no matter what my mother says. How could I not have been? I was raised by good godly parents on a sprawling green (when it wasn’t snowing) Canadian farm, before Americans had even invented acid-rain. A tree-lined river bordered our fields. The water ran clear when it wasn’t muddy, and you could actually eat the fish without fear of mercury poisoning—that is if you caught anything other than bone-riddled rock bass or sun fish. Dad and Mom raised obnoxious chickens, pastured Holsteins, and free-range kids. The air was clean, the dirt was dirty, and life was good. So tales of my rebellious, pouty-lipped childhood have been most certainly exaggerated.
To view a longer version of this sordid tale 🙂 check out everythingchangesinthelight.blogspot.com .