When I was about 8, living in St. Louis in a 4 family brownstone, I was sent to stay with Mom and Dad Ellis in Salem. One day some boys suggested we go down to the river which of course sounded like a fine idea. As we were walking along the river bank, we started being shot at by some other boys with BB guns. We ran in and next to the river to escape. Once I got back to the house I told mom Ellis what happened. It was at this point when she asked about my new shoes that I was wearing that were extremely wet. Busted. A few days later I was being put on the bus back to St. Louis when mom Ellis handed me an envelope to give my mother once I arrived home. Exiting the bus, my mother was waiting. I started crying and telling her I was sorry, as I again told the story of the wet shoes. I wanted to tell her before she read about it from mom Ellis. So much for honesty. Nothing in the letter about me, just an update on dad Ellis's health. Fears of a little boy.