It was the waterfall of blood that shocked me the most. But before I get ahead of myself, let me tell you why I hit him on the forehead.

My parents had never had a vacation without my brother and me until that week. Being the archetypical Chinese parents, our family vacations were to Adventure Land (a lame rip-off of Six Flags Great Adventure), Hershey Park (a lame rip-off of Disney World), and, um, that's about it. It was just those two.

One day, a family friend gave my parents the bright idea to go to Hawaii. She said she'd watch over my brother and me; we could stay over her house and play with her two boys. One, Johnny, was a year older than I. The other, David, was a year younger than my brother. It would be fun, she said. You both deserve a vacation, she said.

My parents eagerly embraced the plan. Within days, they packed up bags for themselves and bags for us. It'll be like a slumber party, they told us, only more fun! My brother and I were scared. It was the first time our parents had ever left us alone for a whole week. We didn't know what to make of it. A week at that age seemed like a year.

They dropped us off, kissed us on the cheeks, and drove off in a puff of smoke. They really needed a vacation.

We were still in elementary school at that time. Since they were in a different school zone, Johnny and David went to a different school. The family friend had to drive us to our school every morning and pick us up every afternoon.

At night, we played with Johnny and David. Mostly David, because Johnny was older than us, and consequently too cool for us. David excitedly shared his all of his toys, so we engaged whole new worlds of playing; it was enthralling.

Slowly, my brother and I got over our initial fears and began enjoying ourselves. We each had brought over our favorite Transformers. Together, with David's Robotech robots, we held interstellar galactic battles like never before. The family friend didn't yell at us to be quiet like our parents did, so we climbed all over the furniture with reckless abandon.

When the weekend approached, we were both happy to be returning home and sad to be leaving this second home. That Saturday, one day before our parents were to return, Johnny decided to invite my brother and me to play with his older friends.

They took out some water guns and made the teams. My brother and I were on one team. All of the older boys, which numbered three, were on the other team. David didn't play for some reason, though I don't remember if it was because his brother didn't want him to play, or if he didn't want to play.

A glorious water gun fight ensued. My brother and I ran around in circles, helpless to the onslaught of the older boys. We ran into bushes, hid behind trees, jumped over fences, all the while getting a large dose of water on our backs and butts.

At one point, the boys wouldn't stop shooting my brother and me long after we ran out of water and gave up. We threw our guns on the ground and screamed that we didn't want to play anymore. This wasn't as fun as Transformer and Robotech battles; this was a slaughter.

The older boys laughed at us. My brother and I stood before them, sulking and shivering and soaking wet. Johnny walked up to me with his gun aimed at my head. I told him we didn't want to play anymore. He answered me by filling my mouth full of water.

Then something snapped. Or more appropriately, I picked up a large branch of wood, swung it at Johnny, and snapped it in half on his forehead.

He staggered backwards with his eyes wide open. He dropped his gun and his mouth dropped open. A waterfall of blood rained down from his forehead. His eyes popped open as wide as his mouth.

He stood there for what seemed to be my entire childhood. I can still see his wide eyes staring up at the blood. They were as big as plates.

The next scenes happened in a blur. He rushed into the house with his friends right behind him. I looked at my brother and he shrugged. The family friend took us all to a nearby hospital. My brother and I sat in the car as Johnny's mother led him to the emergency room. We waited for what seemed to be another childhood. I ran over countless scenarios of punishment that I was going to receive from my parents. Or maybe even from the family friend. Or both.

Our parents returned the next day looking tanned and cheerful. The family friend greeted them enthusiastically and asked them how it was. As the adults talked in the living room, my brother and I retreated to the car and waited in there for them. I looked at my Transformers like it was the last time I was never going to see them again.

Johnny had received a bunch of stitches on his forehead but didn't have any permanent damage. He had to wear a large bandage on his head for several weeks. My mother told me this after I told her what I did.

She was shocked. The family friend had told her that Johnny had an accident and fell. She didn't tell her that I hit him. In fact, she told my mother that my brother and I were a delight to have.

I wasn't sure how to take that, but guilt wracked me for weeks after that incident. My parents took it well; the adults had collectively agreed that it was just boys being boys and didn't say anymore about it. None of the countless scenarios of punishment came to be. My parents were so relaxed after their Hawaii vacation that they just wanted to sit around and drink pineapple & coconut juice.

Dreams of Johnny's wide eyes and the waterfall of blood haunted me for weeks. In time, they went away and were replaced by the usual fears of being picked on at school and homework to do.

Our families never did anything together again. My brother and I never saw Johnny and David again, nor David's cool Robotech toys.

Perhaps there's a lesson to be learned here. Perhaps it's: violence doesn't solve anything. Perhaps it's: vacations should be taken periodically. Or perhaps it's: if you do something wrong, you won't get in trouble for it if your parents are away on a much-needed vacation.

. . .

Have you ever done anything wrong while your parents were on vacation?