“Tell your daughter to stop crying — she’s ruining Easter f0r the good kids,” sister screamed after her twins they dirtied my 6-year-0ld daughter’s dress with mud from head to toe.

I stood and looked at the twins.

“Did Lucy ask you to stop?”

Neither boy answered.

Tessa stepped in.

“They’re eight-year-old boys. They play rough.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Dad finally put down his fork.

“June, nobody is hurt. Why do we have to turn Easter into another family argument?”

Another family argument.

That phrase had followed me my entire life.