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My family raised me with a contradictory childhood full of both adventure and reclusiveness. I spent a large portion of my life on the road, exploring new places and meeting new people, but my parents drilled the familiar concept of “stranger danger” into my head obsessively. I found that interactions with locals during our travels found me, regardless of my sheltered upbringing. It was on a road trip through Memphis, Tennessee that I encountered my most memorable interaction with a local. My mother wanted to take us down Beale Street in Memphis for years, and we finally had the chance to see it. The roads had closed at either end of the main street, and yet they were more animated than they could have been otherwise. Street dancers flipped from one end to the other in the middle of the road, and yet their music didn’t compare to the performers in the park nearby, belting a collection of classic blues songs. An older couple outshone the street performers as they swung wildly to the music, laughing and watching each other merrily. I was only 15 and too shy to join, but watching was all I needed to enjoy the scene in front of me. My mother and younger brother stood on either side of me as we continued our stroll down the street. Our appetite grew, urging us to track down a restaurant for a quick dinner. A man heading our way interrupted our search to shout at us in a way that appeared as though he recognized us. His pace quickened to a jog, and I froze with shock. When he caught up to us, he explained that my brother and I were beautiful people, and he would have loved to draw a caricature of us. I told him no at first, silently panicking that he wanted to take us somewhere else and hurt us, but he explained that he had paper and a pen and would do it right there. I looked at my mother for approval, who assured me. After all, she knew she could protect us, and I had the money to give up if I truly wanted to. I accepted the artist’s offer, so long as he drew my little brother as well. So we stood on the sidewalk for no longer than five minutes, discussing with this cheerful man all the exciting festivities going on that evening. His yellow teeth didn’t poison his contagious smile. Once he finished, he rolled the drawing and exchanged it with my $20. After thanking us and wishing us a lovely evening, he continued roaming to his original destination. We unveiled our new portrait and our breaths were caught, not with an overwhelming sense of enchantment, but at how comical we looked. This man evidently had no professional experience drawing caricatures, as we could recognize by our pudgy faces and puckered mouths decorating the printer paper. Even so, we took our silly caricature home to show our families. I’m sure that, had we taken to our sheltered inclination, we would not have the memory of the silly man that turned us into cartoon characters on the street.