Our house backs up onto this tiny wooded area right next to the river. All manner of beasts love the river, even though it’s gross and barely even a creek where we are, so we get lots of critters around our backyard.

One day, my dad tells me he wants the lawn watered and to get the hose from the back. The hose is attached to this wall that is absolutely covered in greenery, and if it weren’t on the wrong side of the house, it would camouflage the entire wall.

Just as I’m reaching for the hose, I’m attacked! A bird has nested in the bush, and it’s decided I’m bothersome. Worse: it’s a blue jay. Those guys are vicious.

Figuring it would be better to be yelled at than get pecked to death, I go back inside to tell my dad I can’t get the hose as there’s a bird protecting its nest.

He stares at me, scoffs, and goes outside himself.

Just as he’s pulling the hose from the wall and wrapping it around his arm, another attack! And this time, it’s both birds! Maybe because I’m a tiny twelve-year-old and he’s much bigger than me, they thought he was a bigger threat? Who knows!

Because his arm is wrapped up in the hose, it takes him a minute to untangle himself with that arm, while the other arm is trying to protect his head and waving the birds off at the same time. It’s almost comical: a grown man who didn’t believe his child and is now paying the penalty, dancing around a three-foot square patch of semi-parched grass, while two small blue and gray missiles defend their young and themselves against this evil invader.

He finally gets himself out of the hose and rushes back into the house after being pecked several times.

The lawn does not get watered, and he avoids me for the rest of the day.

I have my grandfather and his much younger business partner as a client.

Partner: “Your grandfather’s Yahoo is broken.”

Me: “His Yahoo? Do you mean the email account has a problem, or is the website down?”

Partner: “Yes, his email. You have to fix it. Do you have a few minutes?”

Me: “I live in Toronto, remember? He lives over two hours from here.”

Partner: “No, I mean over the phone. You tell me, and I’ll call him and tell him what to do. I think Yahoo has a virus.”

Me: “You mean you think his email was hacked?”

Partner: “No, a virus. He can’t log into his email. You reset his password, and he can’t log in. I can log in using his email and password, but the Yahoo on his computer must have a virus. He took it to one of those shops, and now his Yahoo doesn’t work.”

Me: “Are you sure he isn’t typing his new password in wrong?”

Partner: “No, that’s ridiculous. It must be a virus. Can you, like, Google a virus?”

Me: “Uh, yeah. I’ll call you back.”

I have a coffee and check my schedule to see if I can fit a trip out of Toronto to see my grandfather over the weekend. When I call to see when would work…

Partner: “It works! Everything is fine. Problem solved, and your grandfather is relieved.”

Me: “Good! I’m glad the virus is gone.”

Partner: “Don’t be silly. It was the password. He wasn’t typing it in right. Your grandfather’s very old, you know.”

There’s a tiny hole in our living room floor. My parents don’t know it’s there. When my brother and I were teenagers, [Brother] was acting like a dumba** one day when the parents were away. He was “playing” with his .22 pistol. In the house. I was hissing at him to stop it and put the weapon back in the case where it belonged. Little Bro wouldn’t listen, waving his pistol around, all dismissive.

BANG!

All of a sudden, Big Sis had a Very Good Point, and [Brother] immediately put his pistol back in the case after unloading it.

This was the only time I caught him being such an idiot with a firearm. Luckily, the only thing he shot was the floor. The carpet hid the hole — not that .22s make much of a hole since it’s a tiny caliber — and I held the blackmail material over him for a long while. He knew he could’ve hurt or killed someone, so I decided to let him sweat wondering if or when I’d tell our parents what he had done.

Our parents never found out.

This incident is something Dad taught us from infancy to never do. Dad’s super-strict on firearms safety. By the age of five, we knew the gun safety rules, so there is no excuse for this story happening.

We’re in a rural area where over half the kids learn to shoot and hunt at a young age. We both started target shooting as kids and started competing in middle school with the 4-H BB team. We both had our own personal firearms as teens, and we both did competition shooting, although I stuck with it longer. We were in our late teens at the point of this story, and we were usually very mature when it came to handling weapons.

Heck, we were very responsible in general — no wild behavior, rule-breaking, or getting into trouble. So, it was perfectly normal for Dad to let us keep our firearms where we could get ahold of ’em if we wished. (Though we weren’t supposed to do more than target shooting with our air rifles or .22s in the back field unless he was there.)

My brother just decided to be a dumba** for whatever reason that particular day. I’m gonna blame it on “stupid teenage boy” temporary insanity. Nothing brings your common sense back faster than a gunshot in the house. He deserved a good Dad-scolding, but I could tell by his face that he’d nearly messed his pants with that unexpected BANG, so the blackmail material was more valuable to me than tattling.

We are having a family vacation with our daughter and her family at a beach. My husband and I have taken the kids to the beach while my daughter and her wife are finishing a few things up back at the B&B before they come to join us at the beach.

I’m lying on a towel watching both kids, who are playing on the sand closer to the water. Suddenly, a man runs up and grabs my granddaughter, who shrieks in fright. My husband and I are both freaking out and ready to run to the man when my granddaughter turns and hugs the man, followed shortly by our grandson.

As the man turns around to hug my grandson, I can finally see his face better, and I only now realize that it’s their godfather — whom I only see a few times a year and apparently am not familiar enough with to recognize from the back. He was scheduled for a visit but has arrived over an hour early.

Apparently, he arrived early, had already talked to my daughter at the B&B, and had been sent to the beach to find the kids. Finding a distracted godchild who wasn’t expecting him he decided it would be fun to sneak up and surprise her. He apparently had not stopped to think how her poor grandparents would react to him grabbing her.

I nearly had a heart attack thinking my granddaughter was going to be kidnapped by a stranger in front of our eyes.

While I was visiting a friend, our conversation turned to technology and how it was changing what was taught in school. My friend’s son walked in to beg for snacks, so I jokingly included him in the conversation.

Me: “I don’t know how you will ever sign for anything as an adult since they won’t teach you cursive.”

Son: “I don’t want to learn cursive!”

He sounded quite adamant about this proclamation.

Me: “Why not?”

Son: “It’s bad!”

Me: “What makes it bad?”

Son: “Because, umm… it makes people angry when they hear it?”

Mom: “Hear cursive?”

Son: “Yeah, it makes them angry, so I shouldn’t say it. And Dad needs to stop saying them anymore, or Mom will get angry with him.”

Mom: “Oh, honey, that’s cursing, not cursive. They’re a bit different!”