My Mom Took the Blame

I was 13 years old and had been told a thousand times not to play with my lacrosse stick

inside the house. My dad was extremely strict about property damage—he treated our house like a

museum. One afternoon, while my parents were out, I was tossing a

ball against the wall in the living room. I missed a catch, the ball ricocheted,

and smashed right through the large bay window at the front of the house. ​I panicked.

I knew my dad was going to ground me for the rest of the summer. I was sweeping up

the glass, sobbing, when my mom’s car pulled into the driveway unexpectedly

early. I froze, waiting for the lecture. ​She walked in,