I always found those families strange, the ones where the kids would get along really well, or even be friends. Growing up, like most of the other families in the valley, we were always fighting. We would play together, sure, but there was always fighting: hitting, kicking, yelling... the only rule that was always respected no matter what we were doing was no head shots. We made up our own ways to deal with and judge fights, like if a hit was thought to be unfair, or a headshot was made, the victim would get one free shot at the offender. This helped to keep the peace, but it isn't always that simple.
One time my brother had been fighting, I don't remember what about, but it was a serious fight, both of us still being in primary school. Normally most of the fighting happened when we were alone together for long periods of time, ie. when the folks were occupied down the farm. But this time Mum was home. She sent us both to our rooms, not listening - not interested - as we both independently screeched at her about our innocence, blaming the other for the fight. It's actually the only time I remember both being sent to their room, not that it was a regular punishment.
In my room, I threw myself angrily down on my bed and from underneath it pulled out the old intercom that my parents had given me. I turned it on and pressed down the button, "It's your fault." My accusation was met with the crackling of static for a moment, before I heard the reply, "It is not! It's your fault!" My brother had been given the partner-intercom.
"It is not! It's yours!"
And so, the argument contined, until we had both calmed down and were granted release.