Your dad taught at the tiny private school where I attended 7th and 8th grades. Because of the school's size, you inevitably ended up in your dad's classroom, not to mention the school basketball team that he coached. These situations brought up some tense moments every now and then. I stayed over at your house a few times, and the relationship between you two didn't seem any warmer there.
I remember one of those overnight stays when we spent the entire day hiking along that bayou near your house, both armed with pellet guns that we used against unsuspecting street signs and the occasional bird. That was the most unsupervised and off-the-grid I had ever felt up to that point in my life.
I also recall that time that my mom took you and Robbie and I to that Rockets game and we made little vandals of ourselves. Never had so many condiments packets created so much mess for the glee of so few. Do you even remember who they played? Funny how the first two memories I have of you involve some form of mayhem and destruction, albeit of a mostly harmless nature. Were you the bad influence or was I? I suspect that it was a bit of both.