Looming over my mother's backyard, the village water tower is a conversation piece.

Telling stories about it is obligatory.

Like the time my brother and his friend climbed up for the phenomenal view.

And spray painted their names in huge black letters on the tank.

No authorities followed up that occasion.

The graffiti was simply painted over and the ladders made more difficult to scale.

In time, the culprits moved away for good.

My brother has since become more respectable.