Mark, my mom and I had returned from a long bike ride this weekend, and two out of three of us were tired. The youngest family member claimed fatigue, but as soon as our neighbor Caden knocked on the door, Mark's energy returned.
The boys ran out back to play. My mom and I put ourselves on time outs, and curled up onto the couches in the living room, where we could hear the boys playing basketball, then scooters, then finally, baseball.
"That soft ball is mine," Caden called out, which Mark immediately refuted.
"It is, too!" Caden repeated; again, Mark answered it was not.
I sighed, and sent Mark a mental message: If I have to get off the couch and come settle this, you will regret it.
Mark called out, "Fine, let's just play with this baseball, then." I congratulated myself on my strong mental telepathy.
But my bliss was short lived. Caden insisted the baseball was too hard, and Mark, once again, took the opposite view. Finally, one of them caved. I didn't hear who, but I heard them tossing the ball back and forth, and the bickering was replaced by more playful tones.
I settled back into the couch with my book. I was glad resolution had won out, and the threat of my services was no longer required.
Until...we heard a crash. A loud, piercing, unmistakable crash, that sounded exactly like what it was--glass shattering into a million tiny pieces. Somewhere nearby, a window was no longer whole, and for the slightest moment, impossibly optimistic, I thought maybe it had nothing to do with the two boys out back.
My optimism disappeared almost immediately. "Dammit," I said, and my mom and I went running.
Mark and Caden were standing in the yard, mouths agape, fear all over their faces. They couldn't even talk--Mark simply pointed to the neighbor's house.
I pulled a chair over to the wall and climbed up. My suspicions were confirmed--the neighbor's patio window was, indeed, in pieces everywhere.
The boys ran out back to play. My mom and I put ourselves on time outs, and curled up onto the couches in the living room, where we could hear the boys playing basketball, then scooters, then finally, baseball.
"That soft ball is mine," Caden called out, which Mark immediately refuted.
"It is, too!" Caden repeated; again, Mark answered it was not.
I sighed, and sent Mark a mental message: If I have to get off the couch and come settle this, you will regret it.
Mark called out, "Fine, let's just play with this baseball, then." I congratulated myself on my strong mental telepathy.
But my bliss was short lived. Caden insisted the baseball was too hard, and Mark, once again, took the opposite view. Finally, one of them caved. I didn't hear who, but I heard them tossing the ball back and forth, and the bickering was replaced by more playful tones.
I settled back into the couch with my book. I was glad resolution had won out, and the threat of my services was no longer required.
Until...we heard a crash. A loud, piercing, unmistakable crash, that sounded exactly like what it was--glass shattering into a million tiny pieces. Somewhere nearby, a window was no longer whole, and for the slightest moment, impossibly optimistic, I thought maybe it had nothing to do with the two boys out back.
My optimism disappeared almost immediately. "Dammit," I said, and my mom and I went running.
Mark and Caden were standing in the yard, mouths agape, fear all over their faces. They couldn't even talk--Mark simply pointed to the neighbor's house.
I pulled a chair over to the wall and climbed up. My suspicions were confirmed--the neighbor's patio window was, indeed, in pieces everywhere.
My neighbor, a super sweet little old lady, never answers her door, so I called to break the news to her. She met us out back by the patio, and if Mark was afraid she'd be angry, that fear quickly subsided. Her first reaction was to hug Mark and ask if he was okay.
"He's such a good boy," she told my mom, who agreed. Even after this fiasco, she thought Mark could do no wrong.
I headed back to my house for a broom and dust pan to clean up the mess. I ran into Caden, who'd been standing at the edge of the yard, clearly still shaken. He's the nicest little kid in the world; he never gets in trouble, and I could see this was too much for him to take. Eyes big as frisbees, he saw me, gulped, then turned and ran home. It was the last time I saw Caden that afternoon!
Contrary to Caden's fears, I wasn't mad. I knew they were just playing around, and that it was an accident, with no malice intended. I congratulated Mark on completing this rite of passage.
"I think every boy in the world breaks a neighbor's window at some point," I told him. "Good job, now you got that out of the way!" I could see him begin to breathe again, visibly relieved.
We cleaned up the mess, and eventually, let our little neighbor get back to her afternoon, after profusely apologizing repeatedly. I thanked God for understanding neighbors, homeowner's insurance, and the fact that no one got hurt.
But just to be on the safe side, I promptly went out and bought a lifetime supply of Wiffle balls. Mark's disappointed he can't hit them as far as the hard baseball, but after one long, steely glance from me, he clarified that "it's okay, who needs to hit that far anyway??"
Contrary to Caden's fears, I wasn't mad. I knew they were just playing around, and that it was an accident, with no malice intended. I congratulated Mark on completing this rite of passage.
"I think every boy in the world breaks a neighbor's window at some point," I told him. "Good job, now you got that out of the way!" I could see him begin to breathe again, visibly relieved.
We cleaned up the mess, and eventually, let our little neighbor get back to her afternoon, after profusely apologizing repeatedly. I thanked God for understanding neighbors, homeowner's insurance, and the fact that no one got hurt.
But just to be on the safe side, I promptly went out and bought a lifetime supply of Wiffle balls. Mark's disappointed he can't hit them as far as the hard baseball, but after one long, steely glance from me, he clarified that "it's okay, who needs to hit that far anyway??"
I agreed, and reminded him that one window is an accident covered by insurance; but any further broken windows would be covered by Mark and his allowance. He just nodded, and unwrapped a brand new Wiffle ball.
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