One time, when I was around six years old, my brother and sister entered my room, early in the morning, and mockingly accused me of being a “sibling.” Of course, the insinuation was insulting. I marched right into my parents’ room to announce this transgression.
I sobbed, and I stuttered. “The-eh-ey called me a sibling!”
My waking parents grumbled. “Awhaaa?”
I daringly repeated myself, knowing that waking those grownups was to happen only in emergencies.
The two bullies (brother and sister) related their story. To my dismay, there was an unmistakable laughter.
“Rodney,” they said, “you are a sibling.”
Horrified, I hastily retreated to the Random House Unabridged dictionary on the fireplace bookshelf.
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