Don’t Forget The Punks
Fireworks explode in the sky over Monroe Harbor and Lake Michigan near Navy Pier in Chicago, Ill., Wednesday, July 4, 2012.
Ask anyone who’s known me beyond my recently-accepted adulthood, and they’ll confirm the early existence of my strong entrepreneurial spirit. A fine example of this comes from the summers I spent mowing lawns with my Auntie JoDee between my sixth and eighth grade years. Starting in the spring time, every Saturday morning, I’d pedal my Huffy to her house a block away and fuel up the silver Craftsman grass annihilator. My aunt and I would make quick work of not only her front and back yards, but those of two other homes on Olcott Ave. As compensation, I’d receive anywhere from 10 to 20 dollars, which was a decent chunk of weekly change at age 12.
