There came an echoing crash from the dining room. What had she done now? There on the ground was my vintage cocktail shaker, its various pieces scattered, a guilty look on my child's face. My thoughts immediately went to the bottles of booze, but thankfully all were safe.

"I cannot tell a lie," she said. "I did knock it down. Don't be mad."

I knew that oft-repeated George Washington story would finally pay off. Thank you, founding fathers. Now I can only hope that my stories about lightning-seducing kites and cold air baths, the brewing of the first batch of Boston Lager, and the Burr-Hamilton duel will prove equally lucrative.