My uncle is a professional chemist (not that I’m entirely sure what that entails even now), so when I was starting chemistry in high school, I couldn’t help but jokingly ask my uncle for his advice.

Uncle: “I’ll be happy to help if there’s anything you don’t understand. I love rambling about this stuff.”

Me: “Well, what can you tell me now?”

Uncle: “Before you even started? Unless you want a detailed lecture on the periodic table and the various ways atoms bind to each other, not much. Don’t lick, taste, or smell mystery chemicals in a beaker, and bases are just as dangerous as acids?”

Me: “You’re such a big help.”

Uncle: “No wait, I actually have something useful. Any time on any test they ask why water does something strange, answer hydrogen bonds.”

Me: “What are hydrogen bonds?”

Uncle: “Doesn’t matter, just know if it’s about water, the answer is hydrogen bonds.”

I thought he was kidding, but during the next two years I used this one random piece of advice on multiple tests, and so far, it’s never steered me wrong. Thanks, uncle, for this incredibly specific but effective advice.

Related:
H2-Oh, Really?

Our family is on vacation. One of the highlights is visiting the Underground Railroad Museum. We’ve received a wonderful tour and learned a lot of history about the people who both fought for and against the Underground Railroad.

My son is looking a little bored as we walk around the grounds after the tour.

Me: “You okay?”

Son: “Yeah, it’s just… not what I imagined.”

Me: “What did you imagine?”

Son: “I thought the Underground Railroad the enslaved used was… you know…”

Me: “…Ha ha, an actual underground railroad?”

Son: “Well…”

Me: “Wait, you’re serious?”

Son: “It’s a very misleading name.”

Me: “So when I told you about your great-great-great-great-grandmother using the Underground Railroad, you thought she escaped using the subway?”

All of us grandkids (four of us) are visiting our grandmother. She’s teaching us how to play chess. My brother isn’t getting it.

Brother: “But why does the Knight have to move like that?”

Grandmother: “It just does. It’s the rules.”

Brother: “And why are those pieces castles when they can move? Castles don’t move!”

Grandmother: “Try not to think of them as literal things; it’s just names we give the pieces to know what they do. Like that game you play with all the monsters. They all have different powers, yes?”

Brother: “You mean Pokémon?”

Grandmother: “Yes. That one. Think of the pieces as Pokémon.”

My brother then reaches across the board and knocks the enemy king over.

Grandmother: “What was that?”

Brother: “I used 10,000,000 Volt Thunderbolt.”

Grandmother: “…”

Brother: “It was super effective.”

My dad catches my teenage brother a few seconds before he tries to put his phone in the microwave to ‘charge it’ because of what a prank YouTube video said.

Mom: “What’s going on?”

Brother: “Dad won’t let me charge my phone!”

Dad: *Explains.*

Mom: *To my brother.* “My sweet boy, I love you, but sometimes I wonder if your head exists just to keep your ears from clapping together.”

I am twenty-five. I have been a legal adult for seven years, and old enough to buy alcohol and cigarettes for four years. But I do not drink, and I do not smoke or vape, so I have never bought them. Full, legal adult for several years, and yet, I still have moments like this one.

My mom and I stopped at the gas station where my mom worked. We both went inside, me to get an icee, and Mom to get cigarettes. Mom asked for the cigarettes, was IDed, and [Cashier] slid the cigarettes across the counter towards us. I picked them up because Mom was fighting with her wallet to put away the change. Then I “remember” that I’m underage and can’t have cigarettes.

Me: *Holds out cigarette pack to [Mom] when she puts her wallet away.* “Here, I’m not supposed to carry these.”

The cashier, who knows I’m twenty-five because my mom worked there, and because we knew each other personally, just stares.

My mom, who has known me since my birth TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO, also stares. She slowly takes the cigarette pack from my hand.

Mom: “You do remember you’re twenty-five, right? You can buy cigarettes.”

Me: *Having completely forgotten that I’m twenty-five, and therefore able to buy cigarettes.*  “…oh, yeah. Right.”

This is an ongoing issue. It’s one thing to be mistaken for younger (I’m regularly mistaken for a middle schooler due to baby-face and having stopped growing at 5’0″ and 110lb at 13) but it’s another thing to mistake MYSELF as younger.