I was about 10-11 years old, living in California, and upstairs in my brothers room. I was having an argument with my brother Scott about something I thought was important at the time, but now I can’t remember the silly little details. At some point he chucked a large paperback book at me and said something that really ticked me off (again, I don’t remember what, but my brothers were always good at making me mad when they wanted to). So I picked the book up off of the floor where it had fallen, and threw it right back at him. Sadly, I have crummy aim, and I watched in slo-mo horror as the book sailed neatly past his shoulder, and went right through the glass in the window behind him, leaving a large, gaping, book sized hole in the bottom left corner. I stood there horrified, Scott and I looking at each other in disbelief and shock. Then my Mom ran in, and began to go ballistic. Can’t say I blame her. I can still feel the knot in my stomach as I stared at that hole in the glass. I was always amazed at how quietly it sailed through, I never even heard so much as a tinkle of glass as it broke a book sized hole in the bottom left corner of the window. I still can't believe the whole window didn’t shatter either (thankfully). That pretty much cured me of ever wanting to throw something at someone again. Ok, I have wanted to, but prefer not to tempt fate again. And as for my punishment, I was severely scolded and sent to my room. Could have been worse, I could have been grounded. Actually surprised I wasn’t. And of course I was even madder at Scott afterwards because I felt like he “made me” throw the book at him, so it was his fault really. Yeah, made sense to me then, not so much now though. Ah, the mini dramas of my youth.