I was ten years old the day I became a man. I was out under the pecan tree eating porridge from my favorite armadillo shell when I heard Momma scream. I ran as fast as my 8-year-old legs could carry me (my legs have always been late bloomers) and came upon a horrific sight. Momma had been sucked into the combine. Poppa was there trying to pull her out, but ended up ripping the scalp right off her head. I don’t know why he was pulling her by the hair instead of her arms. Grown-ups can be peculiar I learned that day.