(I work as a rideshare driver. I provide water and candy for my passengers, and I have a small sign saying, “Please take no more than one item per rider.” I’ve just picked up a woman with her kids. She has just been shopping and has a few clear bags with her.)

Child: “Mom, look! Can I have a piece of candy?”

Mother: “Yes, but see what it says here? You can only have one piece each. Make sure to say, ‘Thank you!’”

(I smiled to myself, happy that the mother was teaching her kids to be polite. When I dropped them off and they were walking away, I noticed that one of the woman’s bags was full of the same type of candy I had put out. I checked my pouch to find that the woman had cleared out every piece of candy that I had.)

(My mom takes my younger brothers and me to a baseball game with some friends of ours. Before the game starts, my youngest brother announces he has to use the bathroom, so off he and my mom go. I sit in our seats with our friends for a while before the national anthem is sung, and it isn’t until the game starts that my mom and brother finally return. My mom is almost crying, she is laughing so hard. Apparently, my mom waited outside the bathroom for quite a while. When my brother finally came out, she asked him:)

Mom: “What took so long? Is everything okay?”

Brother: “The anthem was being sung, and I couldn’t sit down!”

(I am helping my dad read the password for internet access off of the back of his router.)

Me: “SZ8GLS4WRTGADM.”

Dad: “Slow down. Read it back to me like, ‘S as in “Sandwich,”’ and if there’s a number, ‘number four.’”

Me: “Okay. S as in ‘Sacrifice,’ Z as in ‘Zipper,’ number eight, G as in ‘Gladiator,’ L as in ‘Lagomorph,’ S as in ‘Salamander,’ number four, WRT as in ‘Wart’ without the vowel…”

Dad: “Hold it! So, W as in ‘Water,’ R as in ‘Rabbit,’ and T as in ‘Tarantula’?”

Me: “Yes. GA as in the chemical symbol for Gallium, and DM as in the abbreviation for Dungeon Master.”

Dad: *giving me an exasperated look* “So, that’s S as in ‘Silly,’ Z as in ‘Zany,’ number eight, G as in ‘Goofy,’ L as in ‘Loony,’ S as in ‘Silly,’ number four, W as in ‘Wacky,’ R as in ‘Ridiculous,’ T as in ‘Tiny,’ D as in ‘Daft,’ and M as in ‘Moronic’?”

Me: *smirking* “What? You didn’t like my method of reading back the password? I can’t be the only one who knows that Ga is the chemical symbol for Gallium.”

Dad: *dryly* “I still don’t know that Ga is the chemical symbol for Gallium.”

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(My brother has struggled with maths all his life, but he always manages to get decent grades through discipline and lots of hard work. In his final years of high school, however, he gets a particularly mean maths teacher who hates students, and thinks they’re all lazy and exist for no other purpose than to make her life miserable. Nearly all of her classes get an average of D or sometimes even F, but it never occurs to her that it might be due to her awful teaching. During my brother’s last few weeks of high school, most teachers play games or watch movies with the students, because all grades are already set, but not this one. One day, my mother and I are in the kitchen, preparing lunch.)

Mother: “[Brother] should be home any minute now, and we just finished cooking! What great timing!”

(Ten minutes pass, no sign of my brother.)

Mother: “I wonder what’s taking him so long? Normally, he’s always on time.”

(Another 15 minutes pass.)

Mother: “I’m starting to get worried. Do you think something happened to him?”

Me: “Relax, Mom. I’m sure he’s just talking with friends or something.”

(After ten more minutes, my mother tries to call him, but he doesn’t answer his phone. She’s really worried by now. But then, my brother shows up, carrying several large boxes.)

Mother: “[Brother]! Where were you?! I was so worried!”

Brother: *smiling gleefully* “I went to the bakery! Today was my last lesson ever with Mrs. [Teacher]! I bought cake for everyone; let’s celebrate!”

(He had bought three whole cakes, enough for the whole family and neighborhood, so we ended up throwing a huge No Mrs.[Teacher] Party and had still cake for the next three days.)

(This happens when my brother is four or five years old. We have a rule that it’s okay if you don’t want any dinner, but you won’t be getting anything else until the next morning.)

Mom: “Guys, dinner is on the table.”

Little Brother: “I’m not hungry.”

Mom: “[Little Brother], please eat something, or you’ll be hungry later.”

Little Brother: “No. I don’t want to.”

Mom: “That’s fine. Just wash up and get ready for bed, then.”

(In about twenty minutes:)

Little Brother: “Moooom, I’m hungry. Make me something, please.”

Mom: “No, sorry. You’ve had your chance. You’ll have breakfast in the morning.”

(After a little crying and pleading he goes to bed. Fast forward a few weeks later, when our grandfather comes to visit and stays with us for a few days:)

Mom: *to grandfather* “Dad, are you hungry? I can make you something to eat.”

Grandfather: “No, thanks, honey. I ate before I left home, and I’m not that hungry.”

Little Brother: “Pop, you’d better eat, or she will make you go to bed hungry.”