When I was no more than 7, I got caught with my hand in the cookie jar.
From my tiptoes, I reached up my pudgy mitts and drew the jar from the cupboard. Just as I sank my teeth into the first bite, my mother came bounding into the kitchen, hearing the glass ping as I clumsily juggled the jar and the chocolate chip cookie.
I still remember the look on her face. Through the eyes of a 7-year-old, it reflected the great crime I’d committed, filled with shock and disappointment.
