I didn’t much care for second grade.

As a notorious rebel without a cause, I stubbornly refused all contents of my book bag. At reading time, I occupied an old rocking chair in the corner, skinny-legged and rickety. It was situated just next to the window seat, rocking dangerously close to the wall behind. I remained oblivious to the rest of class and whatever we were meant to be reading. I stared blankly past the glass window panes, wishing to be anywhere else.

One day, a flower pot...