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One of my mom’s favorite stories about me: I was probably almost a year old and had learned to climb. Mom left me alone with Daddy so she could run an errand. She included a warning something like, “if she’s quiet, something is wrong.”

I helped myself up to the tank on the toilet and snagged a box of Kleenex.

Mom came home to find me saddled under Daddy’s arm, and him picking up the entire box of kleenex off the floor and stuffing them back in the box, one by one. Apparently, I thought it was funny toss them up in the air and watch them float to the floor.

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