When I was about 10 years old, I was awakened about 5 am one summer Sunday morning by a knocking sound and a little voice calling, "Nancy! Na-a-an-cee!" It sounded like my 3-year-old brother Andy, but I couldn't see him. He kept knocking and calling, though, so I finally got up and went looking for him. He waasn't in my room, or in the hall, or even in his room. As I was coming back into my room I finally saw him -- outside my open window, looking in through the screen. Our two bedrooms, with a bathroom between, were on the second floor, with the windows forming one very long dormer. Below the dormer was a bit of steep roof, and a rain gutter. Then a long drop to the shrubbery below. Andy had climbed out his window and scooted along the gutter till he got to mine.

When I spotted him, he said, "Hi, Nancy! Get me in!" But I couldn't get close enough to the window because of some big stuff in front of it (remember I was only 10), and told him to go back to the bathroom window and I'd get him in there, which I did. Then I gave him a scolding and maybe even a forbidden spank, sent him back to bed, and went back to bed myself.

Later that morning, at the breakfast table, I related this tale to my parents. My Dad had a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth, which became suspended in mid-air as I told the story. When I finished, he put the fork down, got up without a word, fetched the hammer, went upstairs, and nailed the screens shut. They stayed that way till the house was sold some 30 years later.

Cheers, Nancy