It all started one day when I was about ten. My mom wouldn't let me leave the house, and I was feeling sorry for myself. I was angry, too. Why couldn't I just do what I wanted? It didn't seem fair.
I was so mad that I wasn't really thinking. And as my mom walked past me down the hallway, I did the first thing that came to mind. I tried to kick her. I missed, but I knew that she knew what I'd tried to do.
"I'm in big trouble now," I thought. "She'll be too angry to forgive me. She'll send me away—maybe even to an orphanage! No mother could ever love a son who tried to kick her."
