My family moved when I was ten. My new school had actual playground equipment, like basketball hoops and swings. At my old school all we’d had was an asphalt lot, and in the winter when it snowed, we would hide behind snowbanks and build forts.
The kids at my new school seemed to have known each other since birth. Unsure how to make friends at recess, I resorted to hanging out behind the snowbanks — my natural habitat.
It was there that I taught Angela Schaffer how to swear. My dad worked as a road-construction manager, so swearing was my native tongue. I made her rehearse “shit” and “fuck” and “damn” until they sounded natural in her high-pitched, fifth-grade voice.
