Consider this totally hypothetical scenario: You’re a kid and someone has stolen your precious journal of illustrated historical fiction featuring unicorns as famous people.

You’re super proud of the art and the stories, even if most kids your age would think it’s stupid. You never want to lose this precious specimen of your blossoming creativity, so, on the last page, you’ve written a note: “Property of (Insert your name here. Probably Phil or Suzie). If found, please call 555-5555.”

After a day of panicking, you receive a call. A muffled voice tells you: “I have your journal. Pay me $50 to get it back. Expect a call tomorrow with further instructions. If you tell your parents, I will destroy the journal.”

Click.

Turns out, your younger siblings were in the room and listening to the whole call. They know you’re being blackmailed, and they want to help you catch the crook. What do you do, hotshot? WHAT DO YOU DO?

OK, so that hypothetical scenario is the plot of a recent episode of the animated series, “Bob’s Burgers,” a show I regularly watch with my four kids. I had to pause the episode because of all the commotion it created between them. What would they do? Turns out, their answers said a lot about their personalities and sibling dynamics.

My middle two kids always go to extremes and outlandish ideas. My oldest son, almost 12, and my youngest daughter, 10, bicker and fight with each other about almost everything. It’s a shame because they think alike and could probably conquer the world if they’d ever work together.

Or, at least, they might be able to work together in researching the impracticability of their plans.

My son: “I would call the police and have them track the call.”

My daughter: “I would track the call and go to their house and say, “Hey! Give it back or you’re going to jail!’”

My son: “We could track them and then take something of theirs and then show them how it feels.”

My daughter: “Or we could take a bunch of their things and destroy them until they give the journal back.”

My son: “We could track them to where they’re going to be, or we could set up a place to drop off the money and then track their phone back to their house where we could get their stuff and the journal and the money.”

Lots of tracking. They’re better with technology than I am, I suppose, but that level of tracking sounds more expensive than the $50 to just pay and get the journal back.

Meanwhile, on the other far end of the spectrum: My bookend kids. My 14-year-old daughter and my 8-year-old son get along extremely well because they think alike, despite their six-year age difference. Perhaps it’s because they have defined roles in the family. My daughter, the oldest, carries the wisdom and experience that the other kids lack. My son, the youngest, is the “baby” who has mastered all the easiest ways to get exactly what he wants.

Those perspectives often lead to the same conclusions.

The oldest used wisdom (and fear of personal consequences) to reach her decision about the journal: “I would be so stressed out; I would just tell my parents. I can’t deal with this on my own! Then at least it won’t be my fault if it all goes bad!”

My youngest piggybacked off her idea with the kind of logic only the most spoiled kid in the house could understand: “No, you don’t tell your parents. You tell your siblings, and then you have them tell your parents, and then, BOOM, you didn’t break any of the rules.”

You should have seen the smirk he made after he said, “Boom.”

Anyway, both rule followers even though they came at it from totally different family life experiences. The only problem, of course, is the bookend plan involves me, as the parent, trying to figure out what to do about it.

Honestly, this is why my wife and I take pictures of and “digitize” every piece of art and writing the kids bring home. It serves two purposes: 1) It eliminates the need to keep a bunch of random school papers for years and years and 2) It preserves memories and backs up precious illustrated historical fiction featuring unicorns.

Actually, it serves a third purpose — it provides my answer to the, “What do you do, hotshot?” question that began this column: “I won’t ever need to negotiate with blackmailers because I properly keep digital backups of my important work.”

For the record, all four of my kids agree my answer is, “Lame.”

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Tyler Wilson is a freelance writer and parent to four kids, ages 8-14. He is tired. He can be reached at twilson@cdapress.com.

    The Exhausted Dad