You’re writing your autobiography. What’s your opening sentence?
Growing up, on the outside seemed idyllic, you know, playing with neighborhood friends, riding our bikes all over, playing Kick the Can in the street, tag, kickball, dodgeball, the all American apple pie stuff, until the street lights came on, or we heard our Dad’s distinct whistle letting us know it was time to get our asses home.
~This Is My World~ 