big deal when you’re that age.There was just one problem: The door was locked. Now, this was the early ’90s. There were no cell phones, and my mom wasn’t going to be home for a while.
So I did what many angsty tweens would do in this situation: I tried to break down the door. I kicked. I pounded my fists. I even used my shoulder as a battering ram, all to no avail.
Eventually, my mom came home with my younger siblings in tow. There I sat, pouting on the doormat, defeated after what felt like a lifelong battle against my front door.“The door is locked!” I exclaimed.My mom looked at me for a moment, then said, “Did you look under the doormat?
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