I was the perfect child. Even as a baby I rarely cried or fussed. I stayed asleep during the nights and rarely threw tantrums. I always followed directions and was never the type to jump and run around. In public I would sit by my mother's side, dressed up in white and pink with my hands in my lap. Many of my family members would compliment my parents about how well behaved and quiet I was. Of how lucky they were to have such an easygoing child. But even with my mellow personality, my childhood was not without near death experiences. I almost choked on a penny once. Another time my mom found me sticking my dad's razor into my mouth like a lollipop. Somehow I had managed to climb up the cupboards and was attempting to mimic seeing my dad shave. I still have the scar on my lower lip from that incident. A reminder of one of my many instances of mischievousness. My parents tried their best to make a childproof home. But I had the knack for bypassing their safeguards. One of my favorite spots to play in was the cupboard under the sink. I liked to used the cleaning product containers as dolls. My dad installed two locks on that door in order to prevent me from going inside but I eventually figured out how to unlock them. Apparently I had a knack for undoing locks as well. My parents would scold me of course, but I would just giggle and smile at them in response. Even after more than two decades my parents still talk about how they remembered those days. I have two younger siblings and we constantly prank each other. And while they were much more energetic and impulsive in their younger years, my own sense of mischievousness never lessened. And while I was the perfect child, I was still a child nonetheless.