What My Child Self Taught Me about Purpose

One of my earliest memories, when I was three or four years old, involves an argument I had with my four older siblings.

I had done something wrong.

I can’t remember what it was, but it was something for which I could get in trouble with my parents.

My oldest sister was looking after us at the time, and I was afraid of my parents getting home and finding out what I had done.

Meanwhile, my three older sisters and older brother were describing in horrific detail what would happen to me when my parents found out.

I feared the very real possibility of getting a spanking if my parents were upset by discovering I had done something wrong intentionally.

Pleading innocence was my only excuse.

(If my memory serves me correctly, I had not meant to do whatever infraction had brought me before my trial-by-sibling-jury.)

I kept saying, through tears, “But I didn’t mean to do it. It was on purpose.”

This only added fuel to their fire of teasing and they kept on laughing.

“See, you’re going to get in bigger trouble because you did it on purpose.”

I had mixed up the word “accident” with “purpose.” I thought that doing something on purpose meant that I did not mean to do it.