I was bad, but my husband topped me. When he was in Junior High, he and a group of other young louts were hanging about in front of the school contemplating a large, out of place rock, that was lying on the ground.

They couldn't agree upon how it had come to be there, when my husband announced that it had obviously fallen from the sky and should be returned from where it had come. He scooped it up and flung it backwards over his head, in a large arc that cleared the parapet of the school, fully expecting to hear the loud thump of its landing on the flat roof.

Curiously instead, the auditory evidence of its landing was the crash of breaking glass, whereupon logic ensued and they moved quickly and quietly away from the scene of the crime. He never heard anything more of the event for 25 years.

Then one day, when he was working with a civil engineering tech, who had attended school with him, as they reminisced about ancient times, Dan the tech, mentioned an odd thing that had happened to him one lunch hour, when he was working on a project in the drafting room. The dreaded Mr. Bagshaw (not well loved in those parts) was seated at his desk, eating his sandwich, when lo and behold, a large rock plummeted through the skylight above him and landed squarely on the desk before him with a resounding thump.

Mr. Bagshaw sat transfixed for a moment, his face a deathly white, then sprang from his seat and ran out of the room. That was Dan's end of the mystery of ancient times. My husband expressed amazement, but still did not own up to being the perpetrator.