We had just moved to a new house, where my teenage son was in the basement and my bedroom was on the main floor. I called down the floor to my son “dinner’s ready!” and waited for him to appear. Seconds ticked by, and no reply. I called again, a little louder. Still no reply. Hesitant to climb downstairs in a body that was aching from unpacking all day, I tried a third time, more loudly. “Don’t yell at me!” he replied, and still didn’t come upstairs. Exhausted, sore and frustrated, I began to eat dinner alone. Halfway through, he came upstairs and said “why did you eat without me?”. I explained I had called him 3 times and he never came upstairs. He said “I don’t like it when you yell at me, that’s why I didn’t come.”