It was fun hiding under the dining room table. Up in the nooks and crannies of its

underside, I had hidden rolls of coins that I had stolen from the small desk a few feet

away. In fact, at the age of four, I had salted away a small fortune, with which I could buy

great heaps of candy bars. It was the first time I had ever stolen anything, and

although I knew that I must keep it a secret, I didn't feel guilty. I felt exhilarated, partly

by the power of greed, partly by the thrill of secrecy and hiding. How my parents

discovered my cache remains a mystery to me. All I remember is feeling crestfallen as they

shook their fingers and scowled at me. But soon the bad feelings wore off and I went

out to play. Later, Mother fixed dinner and Daddy did Daddy things. Soon afterward,

my petty larceny became a funny story they told their friends, who looked at me and

laughed and touseled my hair. I smiled. I was one of them.