Guest column: A group home saved my childhood Willie Nickerson I was an eighth-grader at Dan McCarthy Middle School in Fort Pierce when I was abruptly called out of my class and told to report to the guidance counselor’s office. “What did I do?” I remember thinking as I left the classroom and walked alone down the long hallway toward the office. “I must be in trouble.” When I arrived at the office, standing next to the guidance counselor was a sheriff’s deputy in uniform. I was nervous. “This can’t be good,” I thought. Because most of the time when a cop came around, it meant something was wrong and someone was in trouble.