As a family we all got along really well. There were only a few times when we would really have problems. My older brother and I were going at it one day. My dad was frustrated, so he pulled both of us into the house and sat us down on stools across from each other. He turned to my brother and asked if my brother was mad at me. My brother said he was. My dad replied. “Okay, hit her.” My brother, the eternal gentleman, said no. My dad shrugged and turned to me. “Hit him.” I happily obliged which startled my brother. My brother figured since he had been nice to me that I wouldn’t hit him. Apparently he was wrong.
When we grew up, we gave ourselves excuses to hit each other. We would play Robin Hood in our back yard using sticks as swords and staffs to mock battle. By that time, however, we really were sorry when we would bloody each other’s knuckles or knees.
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