I was 9. He was 4. You were in Rockford, or at least that's where I thought you were. I always thought you were in Rockford if you were away from home or work though. My theory that I had no brain before 11 years old is no secret. Anyway, he did something to irritate me and in my instant, righteous anger I hauled off and smacked him on the shoulder....not too hard...but hard enough I knew it was wrong. Siblings did not rough each other up in our house. He started to cry and I felt like scum. I knew I was sunk, and I begged him not to tell you. I think in the end he never did. I never smacked him again, but I always felt bad for being the rotten person who told him not to tell. Admit it though. You would have killed me.