Get a DNA Test

One afternoon when I was 7 or 8, my brother John came into our bedroom to find me doing time for some infraction. No doubt I was innocent, a victim of unjust parents. Anyway, John took one look at me and asked me if I wanted to know a secret about being punished. A secret? Did I!

He proceeded to tell me that I didn't actually have to stay in my room. What, after all, was the point of having a water meter directly under our bedroom window if not to serve as a stepping stone to freedom?

A few days later I once again found myself incarcerated. No doubt again a victim of a gross miscarriage of justice. However, this time I knew exactly what to do. As soon as my dad shut my bedroom door, I opened the window, hoisted my little body up, and dangled my legs out of the window reaching for the water meter and freedom.

But I didn't feel the water meter. I felt something entirely different: my dad's hand firmly on my butt - shoving me back through the window with a single powerful push.

For my attempted escape, my sentence was lengthened. During my interrogation, I didn't rat John out. I didn't have to. Our dad knew exactly from whom I'd learned that trick. So  I didn't serve alone. Less than 5 minutes after my re-incarceration John showed up, angry at my stupidity of not waiting a few minutes and not making sure the coast was clear before attempting escape.

So imagine my surprise when I was working in the backyard the other day and discovered this:

Yeah, of course it's Niko. I think John needs to get a DNA test.