When I Was Young in the Mountains

By the way, only one person has ever even tried to guess the book titles on this blog. Come on guys - play along! (And thanks Beckey!)

So London walks up to me and says, "I'm sorry Mom," which is never a good thing for your child to approach you saying. And I say, "For what?" and she holds out her arms, which are covered in ink, black letters and flames covering her tiny outstretched arms. "Oh, well, okay. We just don't draw on ourselves, alright?" I say with incredible motherly authority. She looks at me. "But Mom," she says, "I just want to be like other people." I gaze at her. She continues. "I just want to be like the boy in the orange shirt." Oh. That boy. Clint, our friend, (and not exactly a "boy" for the record) has multiple tattoos covering his arms. And London wants to be like him. Hmmmm.