It was a Saturday night, and the parents were out, so we had to work things out for ourselves.
I was 13, the oldest, and the one in charge. I was lying on the couch watching television when my younger brothers, Rob (10 ) and Pete (7), came running into the house, yelling my name. They breathlessly told me that our neighbor, Michael Lilienheim (my age), had pushed their faces into the snow. So I threw on some boots, grabbed a coat, and bounded toward Michael's house through the snow. As the older brother, it was, of course, my responsibility to avenge this act of aggression toward my brothers.
(In hindsight, and in fairness to Michael, taunting by my brothers most likely preceded the face washing.)
As I neared his house, Michael saw me coming and bolted inside. We ran to his kitchen door and tried to open it, but he had locked it. He laughed at us through the kitchen window, feeling safe in his brick house. No car was in their driveway, so we knew his parents were also out.
Rob and Pete went to the front yard and took out their rage by throwing snowballs at the Lilienheim's house. They were throwing wildly, and most of their hastily packed snowballs broke apart in the air, so all that hit the house was a harmless spray of snow. I decided my snowball wouldn't break apart, so I spent time packing one until it was firm and hard.
Once my snowball was ready, I hurled it toward the house. I watched its arc as it sailed through the winter night air, and I could tell from its trajectory that it was headed toward the kitchen window. It zeroed in on its target, and then...
"Crash!"
The window shattered. When my brothers and I heard that sound, we took off for home.
A few minutes later, Michael showed up at my kitchen door. He was mad, and he demanded that I let him in. I told him that I would come outside and talk to him. So the two of us met in my front yard. I could see my brothers watching us through a window.
"I have to tell my parents," he said.
"You can't!"
"I have to!"
“Tattletale!"
We went back and forth like that for a while until Michael came up with an idea. He decided that since I broke his window, he should get to break one of ours. After more disagreeing, we eventually moved on to the ground rules - we decided that Michael would get three chances. If he didn’t break the window after those three chances, he had to go home, and he couldn't tell his parents.
Michael launched the first snowball, and I watched it bounce off our storm window. It hadn't occurred to me during our negotiations that storm windows are designed to bend. It was a delightful realization once I saw the window give and the snowball break apart and dissipate into the bushes. His second snowball did the same thing as his first. It was clear that Michael had not come to the same realization I had, and I was certainly not going to educate him about storm window design at that moment.
Michael started breathing heavily, putting all his effort into packing his last chance snowball as hard as he possibly could. Finally, he reared back and hurled it with maximum velocity toward the window. It hit the window with great force but bounced harmlessly back into our bushes. It took me a few stunned seconds to comprehend what had just happened. Turning from the window, I saw Michael steaming away, kicking at the snow. I watched him as he huffed and puffed away. When he was out of sight, I headed back inside.
He never told.
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