I was never in trouble as a kid. Well, rarely. Actually, in the fourth grade . . . . . . a boy I’ll affectionately refer to as “Diablo” was sitting next to me in class. I’m not sure what possessed him (probably his direct lineage to Beelzebub) but, without warning, he decided to jam his pencil straight into the fleshy part of my leg. It happened during a quiet moment, one where we were supposed to be focused reading, so I couldn’t react like I wanted. Instead, I wrote the words “Fuck You” on ...