Now don’t get me wrong, I’m the last person who would advocate teaching our kids to engage in illegal activity. More or less.
But I was raised by parents who taught their children to question authority – not gratuitously, and not aggressively, but to look into the reasons behind rules and regulations and to work out for ourselves if they indeed made any sense. (Of course they ultimately learned, somewhat to their chagrin, that this also meant their own authority.)
So there’s a wedge of land at the end of my dead-end street here in Budapest, a pie-slice of soil between two sets of stairs that lead to the streets above. I would often look at its hard-packed dirt, dotted with scraggly weeds, and muse contemplatively, “That looks like shit.” So I did something about it. Something subversive. Something seditious. Something, in fact, illegal.
One night, under cover of darkness…
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