“I think that kid just scratched your car!” my physical therapist said, looking out of his large office window that faced the parking lot. He hurried out the door as I stood against the wall, mid-exercise, with a deflated ball behind my knee.

Huh?

I quickly followed him outside, where we found a kid, probably about 16 or 17, standing slump-shouldered after being caught. They had a look that seems to be especially popular among many teens these days: short cropped hair, chipped black polish on nibbled nails, handcuff earrings, an oversize, faded Pussy Riot T-shirt and oversize pants.

“Did you scratch my car?” I demanded.

“I didn’t scratch it!” they said.

“What did you do to my car?” I pressed.

“I didn’t scratch it. I just put a sticker on it,” they replied sheepishly.

We moved to t

See Full Page