Hard arteries and bubble gum cigarettes. Episode 3.

When most people think of third grade, they might think about learning cursive if someone didn't already teach them, or learning how to pronounce Canada, or hearing about the end of the world within the next four years.

But I, between the years of 1996 and 1997, could not have lived a life as these normal children ... for nay ... I was never meant to think on my childhood and pick a time I could say I was innocent.

I was stealing cigarettes from my dad.

And not 1 or 2 or 12, but 20. At a time. If it was only one box I stole. Because there were times where there'd be more of us, so we needed to smoke more, just to be bad. And as a result of habitually lighting things on fire, we'd already learned how to operate lighters.

So I never got caught snatching cancer sticks out of dad's carton on the top shelf of the closet ... or so I thought ... because when I confessed to my mommy that I used to steal them, she laughed and said "I know." And I thought ... what else does she know?

I haven't had a girlfriend since.

My dad, on the other hand ... when I told before leaving for college he chuckled and said "I always thought it was Adrian." That's my brother. I Love him to.