Tim Parrott lived next store. His parents never let him out to play with me. Once, under the shade of the trees that dappled the wire fence that split our property, I picked up a handful of sand from the sandbox and threw it at him. It got in his eyes and I still remember the screaming. My mother locked me in my room. Fifty years later my mother told me casually, "Yeah, those Parrott people didn't like you."

I don't know why I threw the sand. I just wanted to play.