I was three or four. I don’t remember the incident, but I’ve heard it so many times it feels like a memory. My brothers and I must not have worn our matching sweaters that day or things might have unfolded differently. 

We were at the Canadian border, on our way to Niagara Falls. The border guard looked through the window, first at my parents, then at the three boys in the back seat of the ’56 Ford.

“Are these all yours?” he said to my mother.

“Yes,” she quickly responding.

“I’m not!” I said from the back seat.

I don’t know why I said it. I just know we spent the next hour in an interrogation room before we finally got to see the falls.

You just never know what’s going to come out of a kid’s mouth.