It was when I was about five years old. One evening, my family finished eating dinner in the tiny kitchen of our half-dilapidated apartment as usual. My mother started washing the dishes, my little brother and I started playing, and my father went to the bathroom.
After some time, I went back to the kitchen looking for my father to ask him to play with us, and realized that he was still in the bathroom.
“Daddy, are you pooping?”
I shouted to the door. My brother also came and repeated after me.
“Are you pooping, Daddy?”
Obviously, my father was not going to answer this kind of intrusive question. He just told us to be quiet and go away. But my brother and I found his reaction funny.
“Daddy, when are you coming out?”
In our half-dilapidated apartment, there was no such thing as a lock except for the steel entrance door. My brother and I grabbed the doorknob of the bathroom and tried to pull it open. The old brown wooden door squeaked and cracked open.
“Stop it!” My father shouted and immediately pulled the door from inside, shutting it tight. We children roared with laughter.
“When are you coming out?”
We laughed and pulled at the door while my father fought hard to keep the door shut. Our laughter was now that of madness when my mother finally walked over and intervened.
“That’s enough. Leave your father alone.”
Even in the midst of laughter, I was quick to notice the serious tone in her voice. Still laughing, I immediately dropped my hand. My brother was still pulling the door.
“Leave him alone.”
My mother said again. Knowing that my brother didn’t get my mother’s hint, I gently poked him to divert his attention.
“Let’s go.”
And we moved to our usual play spot to continue our play.
Later, my father came out of the bathroom and commented how naughty we were. I don’t know what had gotten inside of us that evening, but it was certainly a moment of our most madly naughtiness.