My parents, being the free-spirited individuals they were, decided to give me the gift of life on a Tuesday in April 1982. Little did they know, this was the start of a lifetime of chaos and destruction.
As a child, I spent most of my days getting into trouble, much to the dismay of my parents. I would climb the curtains, color on the walls, and eat all the cereal I could find. My childhood was a blur of sugar highs and messy living rooms.
Despite the mayhem, I somehow managed to learn to read and write in a respectable amount of time, which was a minor miracle considering my parents' constant worry that I would grow up to be a delinquent.
It was in middle school that my natural leadership skills were honed. I would often lead the charge in playground battles, convincing my friends that we were, in fact, a team of rebels fighting against the oppressive lunch lady.
My grades suffered, as did my relationship with my parents, but hey, at least I was popular.