This was my contribution:
3 years old: While sitting in a croweded restaurant, I pointed to an old lady and loudly told my mother, "I'm sure glad I don't look like that!"
4 years old: Drew pictures of a naked man and naked woman. When my step-dad pointed at the nipples and asked me what they were, I replied, "Buttons on their shirts." When he asked me what the scribbles in the crotch area were, I said, "Oh, those were mistakes."
5 years old: Pulled my pants down to my ankles on the kindergarten playground and pretended to play the "sexy-phone."
6 years old: Found a puberty book my mom had for work (she was a counselor) and snuck it into school under my jacket. It had all sorts of pictures and diagrams of naked girls. I was the most popular kid on the playground that day.
7 years old: Hid in the coat room at school to get out of gym. Tried on everyone's hats. Gave my entire class lice.
8 years old: Made my soon-to-be step-brother laugh until he peed his pants. Once I discovered I could do that, I did it whenever possible. Our parents never found out I was responsible.
9 years old: Shocked a large group of people at the wedding of my father and step-mother by walking up to the minister and saying casually, "See you next year... when they get divorced."
10 years old: Found a way to get my dad to stop spanking me. I pretended to get off on it.
11 years old: A few friends and I would dare each other to knock on random people's doors and pretend to be pee-blanket salesmen. We almost had one old lady convinced.
12 years old: Hit puberty. Big time. There was a metal-rocker girl who sat next to me in history class. She'd always talk about the wild things she and her boyfriend did, like stealing their parent's booze and having sex. Sometimes she would sit sideways in her desk and rest her legs on mine, inadvertently (or maybe not) letting me see her undies. That drove me wild.
13 years old: Not a happy period of my life.
14 years old: Got fed up and ran away from home. My sister eventually told my mother where I was and she told my father. He drove up to Portland from Salem to take me back. I told him I'd just run away again. He relented and I've lived in Portland ever since.
15 years old: Skipped school almost every day, spent much of my time volunteering with autistic kids and at the local community radio station.
16 years old: Transferred to a new school (one for "losers" like me) and made more friends than I ever had before in my life.
After writing this, I realized that it went from funny to just autobiographical. After thinking about it for a minute, I realized that it's hard for me to think of any funny events from my teenage years. That kind of depresses me.
