 What didn't William get accused of as a young boy?
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Not if you believe me. The first thing I can remember, the start of all this, was when I was four or five somebody was soiling my bed for me. But in the morning the bed would sit there dispassionately soiled and convict me on circumstantial evidence. For punishment, he locked me in a windowless room and told me to sit still until he came back. It wasn't so bad a punishment, except that when Dad closed the door, the light turned off and I was left there in the dark. Being four or five, I didn't know any better, so I thought Dad made it dark to add to my punishment. One day, to prove me a liar, he opened and closed the door a few times from outside. Because they were real, I talked about them as if they were real, and I almost earned a bunk in the home for retarded children until I got smart enough to keep the beasts to myself. My mother and father must have been glad when I was sent away to reform school after my thirteenth birthday party, the one If you believe any of this at all, you'll see why it couldn't be me who did the stealing. There was reason for me to steal, if I could have got away with it. When I was expelled from reform school, I left with just one idea in mind—to get all the money I could ever use for the things I needed and the things I wanted. It was two or three years later that I skulked into Brother Partridge's mission on Durbin Street. Partridge didn't seem to notice me, but I knew that was an act. Some skin-and-bones character I didn't know struggled out of his seat, amening. As soon as I got cleaned up, I was going to have dinner in a good restaurant, and I was going to order such expensive food and leave such a large tip for the waiter and send one to the chef that they were going to think I was rich, and some executive with some brokerage firm would see me and say to himself, "Hmm, executive material. I beg your pardon, sir—" just like the razor-blade comic-strip ads in the old magazines that Frankie the Pig sells three for a quarter. Even Partridge made his way down from the auctioneer's stand like a vulture with a busted wing and darted through his private door. Crockery was ringing and men were slurping inside.
 stealing from his parents
 lying to his parents  wetting the bed  calling his mother names  stealing from his parents