At 57 years of age I swear, I have never told anyone what I am going to share right now. No one, not even my family, knows about this. I was young, very young, just learning to ride a tricycle for the first time when I broke the neighbour’s stained glass window. In a reckless fit of physical ineptitude I put the front wheel right through the basement window. My little friend who owned the trike was aghast! (her father wasn’t too thrilled either). I still remember those cruel words she spoke: “Why did you have to break the pretty window, why didn’t you break one of the other ones.”
This incident probably sparked the two defining characteristics of my life. Forever after, I have viewed myself as a klutz, and to atone for my sins I have worked relentlessly to become a damn good stained glass artist.
(The truth of the matter is: it wasn’t a real stained glass window, it must have been a silk screened design put on the glass, because with real stained glass the lead would have held the broken glass pieces together!!!)