When I was a little girl I had a horrible nightmare. It scared me so badly, I couldn't sleep in my room anymore, so I camped out on the floor in the living room.
One night, my brother had come upstairs to get something from the kitchen just as I was beginning to feel the onset of the one and only panic attack of my life. At the time, of course, I didn't know what was happening to me, but I thought I felt my life slipping away from my body. I thought I was about to die right then and there, and I needed my dad. He was the one we called in emergencies. He would take care of me.
Anybody out there who has an older brother knows that they will take any opportunity to torment a younger sibling, so when I said in my weakened state, "Mike...Get dad!" He responded in a taunting voice with, "Whyyyyyyyy?"
"Mike! Just get dad!" I said with urgency as my anxiety increased.
"Whyyyyyyyyyyy?" he teased.
"Just get him!" I yelled frantically, starting to cry.
I guess he got the message, because he ran downstairs and in a moment my father came up. He gently brought me into the bathroom where he ran cool water over my wrists and placed a cool face cloth on the back of my neck. I immediately began to feel myself again in the light of the bathroom with my dad calmly talking to me.

A few days later, I was loitering in our upstairs hallway, when I heard my brother's voice, shakily call my name from the bathroom. "Sharon...Get DAD!" he said in a pained voice.
"Whyyyyyyyyy?" I taunted as the sweet feeling of vengeful satisfaction washed over me.
"Get him, now!" he yelled through the door, as the chilling realization of the situation set in.
"Whyyyyyyyyy?" I teased, savoring the moment.
"Just get him!" He growled through the bathroom door.
Not wanting to push my luck, I ran to get my dad to save my brother from whatever emergency he needed rescuing from.

I could hear them talking with the echo of the bathroom and their lowered tones muffling their voices. Mikes words were frightened whimpers and Dad's had stifled laughter behind his. Then I heard my dad say, "one...two...three!" and in a few minutes they emerged from the washroom.

I think my dear brother learned a couple of lessons that day. One, to handle his sister's emotions with a little more delicacy, and the other, to handle his zipper with a little more precision. Both equally valuable learning experiences if you ask me.