We leave Lego dioramas around the house. Ironman fighting Darth Vader on a loot llama. Funny little Easter eggs. My nephew loved them. Too much.
A few were missing after his visit. I asked my brother to return them. He shrugged. “Kids being kids.”
Weeks passed. I reminded him again. He “forgot.”
Okay. Game on.
We went to his house for a barbecue. Before going in, I told my kids, if our Lego isn’t here, everything in this house is fair game. They didn’t hesitate.
They looted like raiders. Remotes, mugs, chargers. Even tried to take the dog. I had to sneak it back before we left.
My phone blew up on the drive home. I ignored it.
Later, my brother called, furious. He demanded his stuff back. I told him I’d return it next time… once we got our Lego.
That evening, he showed up at my door. He brought everything back. Even some Lego that wasn’t ours. I returned his things and told him this is how we’d handle it from now on.
Now he’s pissed. My parents are siding with him. They say there’s a difference between an eight-year-old pocketing toys and teenagers pillaging a house.
But all I see is this: He ignored me. I taught him a lesson.
