I remember, because my uncle told me to stop staring at the sun because my eyes “would melt into the back of my head.” We were walking home from getting ice cream from Bruster’s. My short blonde hair, usually spiked up paired with thin aluminum-rimmed glasses, and my lopsided grin that seemed to be permanently on my face. Back to 1998, when I was a 13-year-old, wily boy.
