"With a Marble."

In my earlier years, I basically had three parents: my mom, my dad, and television. This may seem concerning or improper, but I think I turned out OK so quit judging, OK? Anyway, I watched a lot of television, particularly Cartoon Network. I loved Looney Tunes, The Powerpuff Girls, Courage the Cowardly Dog, and Johnny Bravo. There was a time in my adolescent life where I could go a week watching Cartoon Network and not see a single episode I hadn't already seen. To sum this paragraph up: I watched a lot of TV.
Now that my love of television has been established we can bring in the actual television itself. (our protagonist if you will) 'Twas a smallish television with faux wood paneling that was becoming more and more in disrepair. Occasionally the things being displayed would glitch and roll to the top of the screen repeatedly like an eye looking upward over and over again which would force me to turn it off and wait for it to magically repair itself. (I still believed in magic and santa and the tooth fairy then...) So in summary: The TV was a pile of crap.
In summary of the next paragraph which I am too lazy to write: I had this cool set of plastic parts that could be put together to create custom instruments.
One day I took my custom instrument set and created a short series of round tubes. I used this creation to launch a small marble at various objects around the house. I would make small targets out of paper and place them in different places and shoot at them. Being a child not older than 6 I quickly grew bored of this and, of course, began watching television. I still had my marble launching instrument near me and was idly playing with it when suddenly I blew a little too hard and launched the marble at our decrepit, vinyl paneled television set.
There was now a small hole in the glass of the TV. I was in BIG trouble.
I quickly disassembled my weapon and hid the pieces as well as the marble. When my mother returned home she immediately noticed the hole and immediately accused me. Looking back this was the proper accusation because if my father or sister had done it they would've just told my mother about it, but my adolescent brain didn't realize this so I attempted to lawyer myself out of it because my mother had no proof. She kept prodding me for days and I kept my act up pretty darn well, until one day instead of asking, "Did you put a hole in the TV?" She asked, "So, Mark. How did you put a hole in the TV?" I slipped, I was trained to regurgitate information. My mother still tells the story of when I was about this age and I would learn a new word, I would repeat the word, the definition, a simplified definition, and use it in an original sentence. I replied, "With a marble."