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My mother ran the village shop, which was full of boxes of crisps (and possibly other things, I was four). Once the last packet of crisps left the box, I wanted to play with it. I pointed up to a kitchen knife, and said “I want that”.
She handed me the knife, indicated along the sharp edge, and explained “if you touch this part, you will bleed and scream and it will hurt”.
“Okay”
I took the knife and cut three sides of a square in the bottom of the box, so I could poke my head through the flap, then cut another two smaller flaps for each arm. I had become a transformer - I could wander around with my head and arms out, but any time I didn’t approve of the situation, I would tuck my head and limbs in, and become a box.
I think these little bits of early responsibility shaped me well. Most likely my mum was keeping an eye on me, but at the time I felt like I had to take care of myself, and I understood that if I’d cut myself, I should deal with the pain alone.