A little background: My mother's father, my Pepere Duval, liked to fish. And he liked to share his catch with family and friends. I remember him coming to visit bringing a pail brimming with eels he and my uncle Leo (or was it Emil?) had caught from a bridge over the Acushnet River (for locals, the Coggeshall Streert Bridge).
         We had eaten many Friday fish dinners off his generosity and skill. So when I came in from playing on a beautiful, warm spring day, I was all excited when my mother told me Pepere had come by with some great,  big fish. "We wanted to keep them alive so they'd be fresh for supper," Mom explained. "They're upstairs in the bathtub."
         Excited? You bet I was. That's the sort of thing that can really turn on a young boy, the thought of seeing live big fish up close. And in our own bathtub!
         I ran upstairs as fast as I could. I may even have stumbled a bit, I don't remember.
         And there, in the bathtub, was ... nothing.
         And there, in the kitchen, was my mother, laughing as she said: "April Fool!"
         I spent years trying to retaliate. She was always one step ahead of me, and I never did.
         But with years comes sense, sometimes, and so over time, we've had many pleasant chuckles over her successful prank and my childish credulousness ( I prefer to think of it as filial trust, naturally).
         But, for the record, I tried to pull that one on my kids many years ago, and they never fell for it. Not once, not at any age.
         Is this something I should be worried about?