Everyone has an event that changes their perception of the world. Be it a death in the family, war or an older sister chasing bullies with a broom, everyone goes through this process.
I had two, and oddly enough, they both had to do with my mother. That never happens to anyone else, right?
The first started off simply enough. I was in the car with my mum; I pulled out a book and began to read. I was about seven years old and I had just discovered my love of reading. I read anything with the voraciousness of a starving line backer. Shakespeare, Blume, King, pretty much anything not nailed down. The book I was reading that day was “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.” The simple, innocent Christian allegory was fabulous, until my overly zealous Roman Catholic, Latin service mum saw the title, THE TITLE, and threw it out of the car window. She then proceeded to run over it, not ,once but twice, with the car. She then looked at me, with mildly validated eyes and said, “That will drive the devil out of it.”