When I was a little kid, my parents signed me up to play soccer once a week with a neighborhood team. I played it for a few years, until one day in mid-elementary school when I came home from the final game of the season looking like someone had stolen my favorite stuffed animal. I went to my room without saying much.

Dad: “Did something happen at the game?”

Mom: “She’s sad because they stopped offering pizza at the end of the season. She said that if she knew there wasn’t going to be any pizza, she wouldn’t have signed up at all this year.”

Dad: “You’re kidding.”

Mom: “Nope.”

Dad: “I’d have paid for a d*** pizza every week if it meant I didn’t have to sit on a cold bleacher every Saturday morning.”

Up until this point, I had thought of pizza as a special treat that had to be earned by doing something hard (like playing soccer). It genuinely had not occurred to me that Mom and Dad had money, that money could be exchanged for pizza, and that pizza was a lot cheaper than organized soccer.

Customer: “Hey, I need a good laptop. I want something American-made.”

Me: “Well, a lot of companies, even American ones, have manufacturing in various countries now, but they still uphold high quality standards.”

Customer: “Yeah, but I’d prefer to support American workers. I don’t trust the stuff they make in those other countries. They just can’t match up. I was looking at [Tech Company]. They’re from California, right?”

Me: “Actually, sir, their laptops are manufactured in Taiwan. They’re incredible machines, though! Great specs, excellent quality—”

Customer: “—Taiwan? Isn’t that just China?”

Me: “I wouldn’t put it quite that way, but yes, it is a part of Asia.”

Customer: “I don’t care what you say, I don’t want anything from that part of the world. What about [Other American Company]?”

Me: “All of the laptops you see here from [Other American Company] have Chinese-made components inside them. The screen, the motherboard… pretty much everything that makes it work.”

Customer: “What? Are you kidding me? It’s all Chinese junk?!”

Me: “But they all work really well when it’s put together with care.”

Customer: *Sighs.* “I guess I’ll go with this one then. Isn’t anything in it made in America?”

Me: “Well, I know that the packaging facility is in Kansas?”

Customer: “Kansas? Ugh, like the Kansas City Chiefs?!”

Me: “That team is actually in Missouri—”

Customer: “—F*** them! I’d rather support China!”

Well… that flipped quickly!

I was at a soccer game. I decided to take a short walk around the concourse and treat myself to a souvenir Dippin’ Dots cup. The kiosk has all of four flavors available (cookies & cream, rainbow sherbet, cookie dough, and brownie batter), and none of them look alike.

Me: “One cookie dough, please.”

One lady took my order and handed the bowl to her coworker, saying cookie dough. While she took my payment, the coworker filled the bowl (the “menu” of sorts covers the glass, so it’s not possible to see what she’s doing from the front side of the cart). A minute later and she hands a bowl to me, full of cookies & cream (obvious by the Oreo pieces).

I hated to complain, but I said:

Me: “I asked for cookie dough.”

Worker: “Isn’t that cookie dough?”

Lady Who Took My Order: “Nah, cookie dough has the brown bits.”

I hand the bowl back, and she takes a fresh bowl and fills it. A minute later, and I’m looking at brownie batter (obvious by the brown, not white, dots and almost black bits of brownie).

Me: “That’s brownie batter, but it’s okay, I’ll take it.”

That was my second choice, and I didn’t want to ask her to redo my order again. She came around to my side of the kiosk.

Worker: “WHICH one?!”

I pointed to the photo. The light bulb went on, and a minute later, I was walking away with my cookie dough dots.

So the story goes, I was born in the middle of a pivotal football game. The nurse came out to my dad in the waiting room and said:

Nurse: “Mr. [Family Name], would you like to see the baby?”

Dad: “One second, they’re going to kick…”

Mom: *Shouting from the other room.* “So you don’t want to meet the twins, then?!”

Expecting only the one baby, my dad runs into the room panicked, ignoring the game finally. When he sees that he’s been pranked.

Dad: “That’s mean! The footy was the only thing stopping me from fainting!”

Mom: “Those blokes are passing footballs with their legs. I just passed something the same size through my legs! And you’re the one at risk of fainting?”

They got over it quickly because of how CUTE I was. When my dad tried to name me after his favorite footballer, my mum had none of it.

I’m the oldest of four children, and we all have VERY different personalities and interests.

[Brother] is two years younger than I am and is entering high school for the first time. He signs up for the cross-country team, and the coach starts some get-to-know-you activities, asking everyone to share their name and whether they have any siblings in [High School].

Brother: “I’m [Brother], and I have an older sister named [My Name].”

Teammate #1: “Wait, [My Name]? Short, brown hair, glasses, always has a book?”

Brother: “Yeah, that’s her.”

All the teammates stare at my tall, athletic, sandy-blond brother, who has already shown a disdain for everything academic.

Teammate #2: “…And you’re doing this?“

Not only were his teammates shocked that we were related, but apparently, several of his friends didn’t believe him until I attended his high school graduation four years later!