I climbed into the crook of a dead apple tree and when I slipped down out of control, a rusty nail gouged my knee deep into flesh. I never cried, and I still have that one-inch-diameter scar on the side of my knee, which I have unconsciously rubbed so often over the years I have made threadbare spots on many of my pants. The scar remains a badge of bravery and disobedience, a memento of my childhood when I made discoveries on my own, ones so exciting they overrode caution.
