When I was a kid, my sisters and I almost set the house on fire. We all quickly knew that we had done a very bad and dangerous thing. Consciences sprouted. There were tears and apologies. Our mother sent her fledgling pyromaniacs to bed without supper, which, she later said, was the worst thing she could think of doing to us. That night, after she sneaked food to us in our rooms, she told us she knew our self-reproach was punishment enough. She had made us miss supper just because she was mad and didn't know what else to do.
Some...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In