Childhood is supposed to be a time we can look back on with fondness and great sentimentalism. Maybe there are people who can do this. If your family memories are like the Cleavers of Leave It to Beaver or the Andersons of Father Knows Best, you were not only extremely lucky, you don’t exist.

For most of us, childhood was a combination of the fun we like to remember and the misery we’d rather forget. If we’re lucky, the good memories outnumber the miserable ones. If you’re not so lucky, the reverse is true.

I was one of the reverse kids.