Childhood mischief-making started with the question. What would happen if?
What would happen if I pinched my older brother’s chubby thigh while he sat on his potty chair?
If the wheel nuts to my tricycle were loosened to the point of falling off under enthusiastic play–what would happen? It was hilarious, when the back wheels fell off, and the tricycle skidded to a stop in the dust and dirt.
A newly found rusty saw, easily cut though corn stalks, with the assistance of my younger brother. It brought out woodsman aspirations in both of us.
Corporal punishment administered by my father, was the most frequent answer to the question. Except for the time, I found a spring-loaded varmint trap at grandma’s. It sprang shut on my fingers, as I hollered for help. There was no spanking that time. My pinched fingers were punishment enough.