Have you ever stopped to think about the construct of April Fool’s Day?

I did. And let me save you some time — it’s mostly theoretical.

There’s no universally agreed-upon moment where someone stood up, declared, “Let this be the day we fool one another,” and the world nodded in approval. Historians have theories, of course. Some point to calendar changes in France in the 1500s, others to ancient Roman festivals, and still others to medieval spring celebrations where mischief was part of the fun.

But none of it is definitive.

And that, to me, is the fascinating part.

Something with no clear origin, no founder, no formal rules somehow managed to grab hold of an entire day — not just in our society, but around the world. Every April 1, people collectively wake up and agree, almost instinctively, that today might involve a prank.

Think about that for a minute.

If someone really wants to understand the perfect formula for marketing, they might consider skipping the textbooks and studying April Fool’s Day instead. Or any social construct, really. The things that take hold are rarely the ones with the most structure. Sometimes they’re simply ideas that people decide — together, quietly — to believe in.

And just like that, the tradition lives on.

By the time you’re reading this, April 1 will have already passed. Hopefully it was filled with harmless jokes, laughter, and maybe a moment or two where you caught yourself before falling for something ridiculous. Ideally, no hard feelings.

But I sometimes think about the other side of it. The part we don’t talk about as much.

The lesson wrapped inside the old story of the boy who cried wolf.

How many real situations were left to chance because they happened to fall on April 1? Because someone assumed it had to be a joke?

I once found myself in that exact situation.

And I’m sure if you asked him, his version of the story might sound a little different than mine.

I was a 21-year-old student at Youngstown University, dating a very nice boy who has since grown into a very nice man — and, interestingly enough, one of my closest friends today.

That day we had an important assignment. We were in charge of getting the alcohol for a campus party that night.

Our classes had ended early, and he asked if I wanted to ride along. I said yes, climbed into his car, and off we went — two college kids on what felt like a very noble mission to save the evening.

I remember exactly what I was wearing. A pink summer dress. A soft white button-down sweater.

Yes, I remember that much detail from something that happened decades ago. And no, it wasn’t because I was being swooned.

We were cruising along, confident in our heroic errand, when the car made a sound.

First a putter. Then a hiccup.Then something that could only be described as a full-blown mechanical temper tantrum.

Before we knew it, we were gliding off an exit ramp — one that was nowhere near our destination and certainly nowhere near campus. There we were.

Parked on the side of the road.

Me standing outside the car, cigarette in hand (no judgement please), pink dress and white sweater fluttering in the breeze like some strange roadside fashion editorial.

Him frantically calling friends to come help. Only…no one believed him. Because it was April 1.

Friend after friend thought he was playing a prank. Surely this was some elaborate joke. Surely he was trying to trick them.

But he wasn’t.

The car had actually broken down.

And in that moment, the perils of April Fool’s Day came shining through. A guy who never cried wolf suddenly found himself lumped in with everyone who did.

I think about that moment every year around this time.

It reminds me that while it’s fun to keep an eye out for the prank, it’s just as important to stay open to the possibility that something might actually be true.

Because sometimes life sneaks in on April 1, too.

And not every story that sounds unbelievable is meant to fool us.

Mother, author, entrepreneur and founder of Dandelion-Inc, Lisa Resnick wants to hear your story. Share memories with her by emailing lisa@dandelion-inc.com.