(My brother, who is months away from adulthood, is trying to confront my mum on the issue of her regularly employing emotional blackmail to get him to do what she wants. It has made him miserable enough that it’s impacted his morale and made him less willing to study, not more. He decides to bring it up with her. My dad and I are in the same room, although we’ve mostly been quiet so that he can do the talking on his own behalf. I have seen enough of these “interventions” with my mum to know that unless my brother is willing to firmly enforce the boundaries he’s trying to set, any change in behaviour from my mum will be lucky to last a week. As such, although I’ve always tried to encourage my brother to stand his ground, I have grown rather weary and cynical towards these family meetings, and I’ve particularly run out of patience for my mum’s excuses or “defenses.” At this point, they have been discussing and arguing, practically in circles, for at least half an hour now.)

Brother: “The thing that I really hate, Mum, is when you threaten to call up my friends and teachers when you think I’m playing too much or not studying hard enough, or whatever. It’s really hurtful.”

Dad: *in disbelief* “No… Really? Seriously, [Mum], you can’t be doing this; he’s almost 18!”

Me: “Mhm.”

Brother: “Yes! And she’s actually gone through with it, too, when I tried calling her bluff; she actually picks up the phone and starts calling them.”

Mum: *indignant* “You’re making things out to be so much worse than they really are! How many times have I done that, [Brother]? Was it every time? Was it every day?”

Brother: *groans in frustration* “No, but—”

(With that, my patience is out. I have run out of f***s to give.)

Me: *rolls eyes* “Oh, gee, Your Honour, I know I’m facing murder charges, but let’s look at the facts here: it’s not like I killed someone every day, so can you really call me a murderer? I mean, fair’s fair.”

(My brother has his head in his hands. My dad tries to shush me and stifle a chuckle at the same time and is rather unsuccessful in both endeavours. My mum makes a point of ignoring me. She regains composure and tries again, a little quieter this time.)

Mum: *deliberately not looking at me and addressing only my brother* “Tell me, [Brother], did I do that today?”

Me: *throwing my hands up dramatically* “Oh, Your Honour! The unfairness of it all! Okay, so maybe I did kill some people in the past month, but Christ, give me some credit! I didn’t kill anyone today, did I?!”

(My dad lost it and collapsed into a fit of giggles while my brother just about threw his hands in the air. I don’t think much progress was ultimately achieved that day. I may have been a bit unhelpful in that regard. Oops.)

(I am about seven or eight, and my sister is a year younger. My aunt is coming over, and she always bring us treats. My sister and I are very close, and when my aunt has left the room, my sister makes sure nobody is watching and I look in my aunt’s bag. I find a small bar of chocolate. Loving chocolate, I eat all of it, not giving any to my sister. She then turns around, looking to see if I had found anything.)

Sister: “[My Name], have you found anything?”

Me: “Nope, let’s go to the other room and relax.”

(We then leave and are relaxing in the next room when my mom comes running in.)

Mom: “Who ate [Aunt]’s chocolate!?”

(Not wanting to get in trouble, I immediately blame my sister.)

Me: “[Sister] did!”

Mom: “[Sister], get up, and come with me! [My Name], you stay here!”

(I later found out that my mom had taken my aunt and my sister to the hospital. That chocolate wasn’t actually plain chocolate. It was chocolate to help with my aunt’s constipation. So, while my sister was at the hospital getting needles and shots in her, I, the idiot, was sitting on the toilet the whole time. Keep in mind that was roughly four hours. Lesson learned.)

(After our mother suffers from some unpleasant drama, my brothers and I decide to lift her spirits by getting her a cat, something she’s been talking about doing for a while. We eventually find a precious little, orange fluff ball that fits our basic requirements, and bring him home, humorously enough, the day before Mother’s Day. Mom takes to him immediately and locks the two of them in a room for some bonding time. While we wait for her to come back out, [Brother #1] starts to read the paperwork the shelter sent home with us to our father.)

Brother #1: “He was only brought in recently, so he’s a little underweight, but his health is otherwise good. He has all his shots up to date; you’ll have to renew some of them next year. He was tested for kitty HIV and he came back clean, so he can go outside eventually, and he is neutered the fifth…”

Brother #2: *laughing* “He is neutered the fifth?”

Father: *also laughing* “That sounds like some really fancy aristocratic name you’d find in Europe.”

Brother #2: “‘What ho, peasants? I am thy lord, Sir Neutered the Fifth.'”

Brother #1: *dramatically* “‘What is my legacy?'”

Me: “To not have a legacy, apparently.”

Father: “Okay, we have to convince your mother to name him that.”

(She named him Thomas. But it’s fine, he’s her favorite present of all time and that’s all that really matters.)

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(One holiday weekend, my parents head out of town to go visit my grandmother in a different state. My brother and I don’t go because we both work retail jobs and didn’t take the time off. The day before they get back, I get home from work and see a small grid thing on the island, along with broken pieces of the grid.)

Me: “[Brother], what’s this?”

Brother: “Oh, I broke the light above the island.”

Me: “How?”

Brother: “Well, I saw a spider on the cabinet, so I got a paper towel to kill it, but I accidentally bumped the cover, and it fell like this—” *takes cover off the light to demonstrate* “—so that part broke off. I picked up all the pieces, though.”

Me: “Have you told Mom and Dad yet?”

Brother: “Yes, I texted Mom.”

(He shows me the texts.)

Me: *reading* “How big was the spider? Did you kill it? Did you?!”

Brother: “Yes. It was brown and big enough to be noticed, so I killed it.”

Me: “Good. That’s the important thing.”

(This happens when my sister and I are kids. My sister has just learned how to light matches and is very proud of herself.)

Sister: *to our mom* “Can I light a candle and send it to [Aunt] to show her how good I am at it?”

Me: “That would be dangerous. You should freeze the candle before you send it so it doesn’t catch the box on fire.”

(As best as I recall, neither of us was joking.)