I’m not proud of some things I did as a kid.

I once threw a rock on a garter snake which was sunning itself upon the shores of the creek just because I find snakes repulsive. I once stole a Shaq rookie card from one of my friends in fifth grade and then sold it for $50 to a card shop in sixth grade. I once spent a good portion of my childhood years prank calling an elderly man in my small hometown till he eventually snapped.

Is Devin there?

It all started with that simple, innocent phrase in fourth grade. One of my friends, I can’t even remember which one, was trying to call another friend, Devin Collier, and missed by just one number. Apparently, the elderly man who answered the phone really did not appreciate it.

“He just freaked out. Started screaming at me,” my friend spread the word like wildfire across the playground of Huron Forest Elementary School.

I was one of the many boys who immediately called the number once I got home and asked to speak with Devin.

“Devin never lived here. He doesn’t live here and he never will live here,” the old man screamed at me through the receiver.

The cluster of friends who had come over to my parents’ house to witness the prank erupted in laughter before the old man even hung up the phone.

That was it. The gas was spread, the match was lit and the fire roared. Me and just about every other snot-faced boy in my class at Huron Forest spent the next couple of years perpetually calling the old man who we named “The Devin Guy.”