A childhood spent learning that entering through the front door isn’t always the most logical way. Back of the house, screen door slamming when the spring stopped working for those two weeks in may, heavy dark wood slab that sealed up tight. A lock within the handle that needed a twist and a wiggle, but maintained well, even after we used the weight of elementary school boundless energy to bust it open when the key wasn’t there. The shame of destruction coupled with the satisfaction of proactively finding our way inside.
Fancy window’d front door would never have survived us.