When I was a kid, my sister took me out one afternoon. We went to the shops in town and picked up some groceries for my mom. My sister spent considerable time in the drug store, looking at make-up and nail polish. I waited impatiently.
After what seemed like an eternity, she made her purchases and she took me to the ice cream parlor. We got a couple double dips and started for home. As we passed the pool hall, she stopped short and peered inside. Sis marched into the room dragging me with her. As we approached a group of young men, I noticed my brother. He and his friends were standing around large tables with pretty colored balls rolling around on them. All the young men were holding long poles.
I asked what they were and was curtly told that they were pool sticks and to keep my mouth closed. I did as I was instructed. But I was very curious about the pretty balls on the table. As my sister angrily ordered my brother out of the pool hall, I laid my cone on the table and grabbed the shiny red ball and the nice white one. I found them to be quite heavy and very smooth.
When I dropped one to see if it would bounce as high as a super ball, all hell broke loose. Sis ripped the other ball from my hand. My brother crawled under the table to retrieve the ball I had dropped. All the young men were shouting and cursing. I was violently yanked away from the table. My brother got really mad, yelling something about “having a lot of money on this”. My sister told him in a very loud voice to collect his belongings and “Get home now!”.
On the way home my sister reminded me to keep my mouth closed. Once I was returned to the custody of my mother, I did exactly the opposite.