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I was busy being a small child outside during the 80's. (Born in 1985 here.)
Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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Those religious school kids liked the heathen nonsense the best.
Oh, but I was a very literal panda cub. I thought God kept a gigantic scoreboard with all of our names on it, and tick marks under our names for each sin. He knew all. He saw all. I even found my father's porn stash and reported it dutifully to my mother, so my father could make it right with God and have the tick mark erased.
(I still couldn't stop myself from hiding behind my house and whisper-swearing as much as I could.)