When I was in the third grade, Mrs. Mullen, my teacher, was invited to come to my house for coffee and (presumably) to discuss what a wonderful child I was. Mrs. Mullen began calling me "Blue Eyes" from the time I was in first grade and was not even in her class yet. She was a very kind teacher. (I think everyone remembers their third grade teacher with love, and maybe that's why I became a third grade teacher for two years in my younger years).
Anyway, Mum made a chocolate cake for the event and told me to "make myself scarce." Mostly, I did. So did my 6-year-old brother, Richard.
Mum and Mrs. Mullen were eating their cake and sipping their coffee when I heard a lot of commotion. Chairs moving away from the kitchen table--fast! Water was coming through ceiling over the kitchen table where they were having their coffee and cake.
There was no plumbing overhead, so it was a mystery as well as a bit of a mess. Mum ran upstairs as fast as she could only to discover Richard in the attic crawlspace. He had our goldfish bowl (about half empty except for "Johnny (his fish)" and "Olive (mine)", a hammer, and a couple of boxes of Christmas ornaments. Richard was carefully smashing the glass ornaments near the cracks in the floorboards and washing the bits and pieces through the cracks with the water from the fishbowl. I always wondered what that was all about. It certainly shortened Mrs. Mullen's visit.