Crossed Wires

My father always said that I should think before I act but there are two sides to this advice.
I was twelve and looking forward to the eighth grade bus trip to Washington DC. For Christmas I received a Kodak Brownie Jr. camera and I bought two whole rolls of film to squander on the trip. It was to be an overnight stay and even though my family owned a summer hotel, this was to be my first real hotel experience.
Well, it was a great trip. Some of us even had to sleep in the lobby for dropping water balloons out of a fourth story window. On the bus, after the initial rowdy excitement tapered off, we settled down to sleep. Outside the bus it got dark and rainy, but inside it smelled of wet wool and steam. At one point my buddy asked me what I bought for my parents in the way of a gift. This question shocked me into silence. I had not bought anyone anything, just three souvenirs of Washington DC for myself!
The largest item, a bronze replica of the Washington Monument had a thermometer embedded in one side. It cost about nine dollars which was about one half the money I brought with me. Added to the list was a five-color pen from the Smithsonian Institute and a turquoise stone rosary costing eight dollars. I always liked collecting rocks of strange colors and owning five colors in one pen was irresistible.
Now I had to decide how to divide the souvenirs among my family. I figured that the Washington Monument had to go to Mom and Dad since it was the biggest and cost the most, and the rosary for my sister, Karen, who was the only religious person in the family. I reluctantly decided to part with my magic pen and give it to my younger brother, Allan.
I arrived home at about noon, everyone glad to see me and asking questions. I presented Mom and Dad their Washington Monument gift, remembering that Dad always liked thermometers. Karen was thrilled with the rosary and Allan ran to find some paper to experiment on. Then Mom got a funny look on her face and started crying. She ran upstairs to their bedroom and closed the door. A few minutes later, Dad came storming down the stairs and yelled at me, "Why did you make your mother cry? Where's that thermometer and come with me." He raced me out to the back door, got a hammer and smashed that Washington Monument to bits. By this time I was crying and confused.
Later, I found out that even though Mom never went to church, she always wanted a rosary of her own and thought I gave it to my sister to spite her. Oddly enough, the turquoise beads turned out to be real and quite valuable. My mom often had feelings of persecution and my dad had a terrible Irish temper. Once for her birthday I gave my mom an oval hand-made rag rug for in front of the sink and instead of thanking me she said, "I know why you bought me a rug, it's so you can walk all over me!" Me, I didn't have a clue.