HOW JOHN W. DISCOVERED THE SECRET BY STUBBING HIS TOE

John W. was a simple boy, the kind who really did wear ball caps and cuff his jeans. When his paternal grandmother, who lived in a box on the bookshelf, said "John W., you look just like your father at your age!" she wasn't lying because it seemed John W.'s family had yet to realize it was no longer 1961. But John W. was just eleven and didn't know yet to resent his parents' backward ways. (He will learn this in six years when he is offered his first marijuana cigarette.)
        The rules in John W.'s house were simple: no playing ball indoors, no bringing ant hills to the dinner table, brush after each meal, no cursing. As his father was a dentist, the dental health rule was never violated. His father and mother both cursed like crazy when drunk, but this only happened about four times a year. John W. knew curse words from television but since rebellion, perhaps the worst curse word, was not in his vocabulary, the worst thing he ever said was "dernnit." He had never (and never would) discover how to carry an ant hill. But the ball rule was what he struggled with.
        John W. was left alone for one and a half hours when he got home for school. This was the first privilege he had gained since entering the new building at school. And for that entire time he struggled not to play ball in the house. Believe you me, if it were nice out, he was always in the back garden with the ball. But any sign of rain found him in the living room with the ball and mitt in his hands, bat floating just above his head, his legs bouncing on the couch.
        Finally one day the struggle was just too much to bear. He pulled the drapes shut, threw one throw pillow by the door (home), one by the fireplace (second), the others could be approximated. He tossed the ball into the air but missed it when he swung. He tossed again and slammed it as hard as one boy could. It flew into what would be right field but was actually a framed photograph of the family. (While readers might appreciate this irony, John W. could not.) When you're in the zone, you're in the zone. You can't be troubled by a little devastation. Toss after toss, hit after hit. When it felt like he had played at least seven innings, he ran the bases for a stretch. As he rounded third, his toe caught the leg of the settee. A curse word crossed his mind. He tumbled down and was still for a minute. John W. decided to clean up. He began gathering pieces of clay pot, lemon peels, fragments of replica military weapons. When he attempted to rehang the family portrait, he noticed what looked like a bruise on the wall. He pushed on it gently, a gut reaction of any eleven year old to a wound. The wall seemed to give under his touch. Then, for what reason we may never know, he punched the wall with all of his might. His little boy fist went straight though.
        He pulled a chair over, climbed up to get a better look. Through the hole in the wall, John W. could only see green. He pushed and pushed on the wall until he had a hole he could climb through. On the other side of the wall were huge rectangular sheets of paper and three big plastic cards. He pulled on one of the cards. He read it, he was also was an avid reader. In doing this, John W. discovered that his family was living in the billfold of a man named Henry P. Whinney. This is the aforementioned secret (see title). He climbed back through the hole and went to brush his teeth.
        When he looked into the mirror, his mouth a foaming mess of white, he wondered if his family were abnormally small or if Whinney was abnormally large. Although he wouldn't have been able to verbalize it until much later in life, he realized that everyone's sizes were irrelevant. He thought, "I'll be damned" and considered eating an ant.