I’ve created a reputation for myself.

It started young, this special gift of mine. There are always those popular “Rebekah stories” that surface whilst entertaining guests over dinner, and the one about me wrecking my dad’s classic car is definitely at the top.

It isn’t what you think.

My dad had this car. I forget what kind it was except that, restored, it would’ve had the wheels that sank down, a shiny white body, and crimson bench seats.

It was fun to play in.

One day, my dad and I sat inside—him in the passenger seat, me behind the huge wheel—and we pretended to drive. We probably made car noises with our lips and princess-waved to the adoring public.

I decided to turn on the radio. What I loved about this car was that it had knobs. Cars nowadays have buttons. I like knobs.

I pinched a knob between my fingers and gave a little twist. The fake marble crumbled away in my fingers. I couldn’t believe it! I tried another knob.

That knob crumbled as well.

Focused and confused, I reached for a third knob. That was when my dad interjected(yelped), shielded the rest of the defenseless knobs from me with his hand, and told me lovingly to. Get. Out. Of. The. Car.

We didn’t play car again. No matter. The story lived on.

I don’t know what it is about me. I’d like to call it bad luck. I have two brothers. I feel as though they begin the destruction. They loosen it, or half break it. Then I come along and suddenly I’m the Hulk.

I once broke the paneling off the wall of a stranger’s house by brushing against it. It didn’t make a sound. I was standing there, in the middle of a group meeting, when this long piece of wood, taller than I was, snapped and came down on me. I did what anyone would do.

I caught it and quickly hid it behind the couch.

What’s funny in all of this is that my brothers are very good at fixing things. This is when I realized my brothers and I are actually a team.

You would think that Breakers and Fixers would be enemies, but it is the complete opposite.

See, without me, Fixers wouldn’t be of any use. I give them purpose. It is the circle of life.

Things die by my hand in order to be resurrected by someone else. Without a villain, there would be no need for a hero. Without death, mistakes, and broken electronics, there would be no life, iPhones, or upgrades. Everything would stay the same.

It’s people like me, who break things, that keep the world spinning!

These thoughts were revolutionary!

Suddenly, I didn’t have to apologize for what I’d done. I had done Earth—no, the universe!—a favor. I’m helping society grow and perform to the best of it’s ability.

I am a super hero.

Yes, Mrs. Stevans. I did break your wall. And I am no longer ashamed to admit it! Without me, you would’ve never known that your feng shui was way off. Without me, you wouldn’t have been aware that that wall was capable of poking someone’s eye out. In fact, I’ve probably saved someone’s LIFE by breaking your wall.

You’re welcome.

PS. The piece you’re looking for is behind the couch.

Furthermore, friends and family, I request that you no longer call me The Destroyer. For, what I do, what my God-given purpose is, is not something to be frowned upon. It is, in fact, necessary to human existence.

I am merely helping my fellow-man.

So Papi, when can we play car again?

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