I was about 12--the age of my own daughter today--when my parents made a decision that scars me still. It was the early '70s, and like millions of Nixon voters, they were scared. Scared of drugs. Scared of youth. Scared of sex and rock and roll. Scared, in short, of everything that makes life worth living for a tender young teen. And so they uprooted my sister and me from the comforts and distractions of suburbia and decamped for a quiet life in the country. To be precise, we were transplanted onto a patch of land about 10 miles outside Midlothian, Texas, population 3,000 or so not counting small animals, home to Dee Tee's diner, two or three stop lights, a Dairy Queen, an abandoned cotton gin, a couple of convenience stores and not much... More >>>