Social Issues Book Clubs: “My Side of the Story” by Adam Bagdasarian

He had done it because he was fourteen and had the great good fortune to be blessed with a little brother he could bedevil at will.

And so, my heart full of righteous rage and indignation, I leaped out of my chair, past my brother, in search of justice.

In order to understand the enormity of the mistake I had made, you have to understand my father.

My father was five feet seven and a half inches tall, stocky, powerfully built, and larger than life in laughter, strength, character, integrity, humor, appetite, wit, intelligence, warmth, curiosity, generosity, magnetism, insight, and rage.

Consequently, he was not concerned with the little things in life, such as sibling shenanigans, rivalries, or disputes.

He was the only man to turn to if you had a severed artery, broken ribs, or any serious disease or financial problems, but he was not the kind of man one would knowingly burst in upon screaming anything less than “The house is on fire!” or “Somebody stole your car!”

My first impulse was to walk backward out of the room, closing the door gently before me as I did so, but I had shifted so suddenly from offensive indignation to defensive fear and astonishment that I felt a little disoriented.

I stopped because I knew instinctively that Scotch tape on my head was not enough, not nearly enough to warrant my wild, unannounced entrance into this room.

At this point my brother entered the room, saw what was happening, and stood transfixed.

So, in the interest of a smaller justice, I went over to his trophy shelf, picked up one of his baseball trophies, and gradually wrested the little gold-plated athlete off its mount.