My grandson poured half the bottle of bubble bath in the tub yesterday when I wasn’t watching. Today he took the lid off my daughter’s face wash and poured some out. I yelled at him as he looked at me innocently not understanding what he had done wrong. I remembered when I was about 8, I was washing the dishes and dumped out clear cough medicine from the bottle sitting on the counter. My father was angry with me, and I felt wrongly accused. Yes, I had dumped it out; but I was innocent, because it looked like water. When I was looking at my grandson today with that innocent look, I remembered how I felt as that 8-year-old resenting my father that evening. I will try to remember how I felt that day when my grandson does something again, although I know he’ll get yelled at again. I only remember two people who never seemed to get mad at their kids, my high school friend who quietly and calmly said to her son dumping popcorn all over the floor, “Don’t do that” and my first sister-in-law. And I don’t think their kids were perfect angels; these adults maybe just have appreciated the unbounded curiosity of children.