I was not allowed out of the house until I was seven. The first time I was sent out, it was to milk our cow, Rebeccah. Now, having never been outside the house before, I was both excited and afraid, yet determined to do the milkin' right, and make my Pa proud. I headed towards the barn, ignoring the cat calls and thrown beer bottles from next door. Opening the barn doors, I gasped when I saw poor Rebeccah. Neighborhood vandals had spray-painted slogans all over her hide. Instead of a proper black and white color, Rebeccah was a mish mash of colors, painted slogans, and profanity.

Over the years, I would see similar treatment myself. Any time I went outside, there was a very good chance neighborhood bullies would grab me, strip me naked, and spray paint profanities all over my body. Believe you me, if you think its a sin to say some of those words, its even worse to have them written across your chest in red spraypaint.

Over and over again, I and my seventeen brothers and sisters would beg our parents to move us out of the Hood, and away to someplace the Amish were meant to be, like Pennsylvania or Maine. Pa refused, saying "If the Lord God had wanted us to move to Pennsylvania, we would have been born Dutch." I had some definite thoughts on that matter, but what with having to honor thy mother and father, I really can't say them out loud.