Longtime New Yorker writer Peter Hessler began his career in journalism delivering copies of the Columbia Missourian. Here he recounts his preteen years of setting out before dawn each day to do his job, the trials of which included heavy loads and vicious terriers. There was also Mr. Wood:
On many mornings, I saw Mr. Wood. He often asked about school and sports, and he told me that he had been a baseball coach and a Boy Scout leader. He was active in the local Methodist church. At some point, he started putting the quarters into my pocket himself. He would press close, and put his arm around me, and then I would feel his hand inside my pocket. I sensed that this wasn’t right, but it happened so subtly that I couldn’t even say how it began. After a while, it became almost normal. Like the quarters, this was something I didn’t mention when I got home.
More stories about childhood
In the Ruins of Palisades Fire, Confronting My Elusive Malibu Life
“Memories, nostalgia and regret mix on a trek to find the old family home.”
Tender, Yet Creepy
“Dolls help children create wonderfully vivid and imaginative worlds, while also serving as unsettling reminders of the abyss.”
Swallowing: I Was Mike Mew’s Patient
“I wondered if the two dentists were right—whether my body was becoming ugly. And if it was, why it would do that to me. This was something I had not thought about before.”
