As kids, whenever something would break in our house, my dad would shout at my brother and me: “Who did this?!”
We’d both look at one another, then back to my dad, and in unison say, “He did.”
There were only two siblings, so the only way one of us could be innocent when something “bad” happened was to ensure the other person was deemed guilty.
We had previously tried blaming the cat for incidents such as broken windows and holes in the wall, but surprisingly, my parents’ sense of believability only stretched so far.
As young boys, we truly believed the safest, and surest, path to freedom was to imprison the other one.
It’s not surprising that my brother and I were not the closest of friends growing up.