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I hate when grandma looms and kisses me. She smells funny and I’ve got better things to do even if it’s just hiding in my room and reading comic books.

Eleven year olds need fresh air, not the affection of stale old ladies. I know kids nowadays play with their game consoles and tablets, but that’s not for me. I run off to the park and the woods and to construction sites and places where I’m not supposed to be. I can be alone and I can explore the real world, not the stupid digital one.

Look! It’s a new house wrapped Tyvek. I’m going inside. I bet the inside is unfinished. I’ll climb around, grab some building supplies and make something myself. Adults have no imagination—they build boring stuff.

I’m making a rocket ship. With plywood and nails and Tyvek. And plastic sheeting for windows. Look at this! It’s a beauty!

Now, to launch! Ouch! What’s that? A rusty nail in my foot? It hurts real bad. I’m going home to grandma. She’ll kiss it and make it better.