I tried speaking to Mr. Streeter again one night.
“It’s dark,” he said, waving me off. “I didn’t see anything.”
“You’re still driving on our lawn,” I replied.
He smirked. “You really going to make a big deal out of a snowman?”
What shook me wasn’t his tone. It was how comfortable he was being unkind. How easily he dismissed a child’s feelings.
That night, I vented to my husband.
“He’s doing it on purpose,” I said.
“He’ll get his someday,” my husband replied, trying to reassure me.
I didn’t expect that day to arrive so soon.
A Plan I Didn’t See Coming
A few days later, Nick came inside after school.
“It happened again,” he said.
I sighed. “Which one this time?”
“Winston,” he replied. But his voice was different. Calm. Focused.
Then he leaned closer. “You don’t need to talk to him anymore.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I have a plan.”
Those words should worry any parent. I immediately set clear rules.
“No one gets hurt,” I said. “And you don’t break anything on purpose.”
He nodded quickly. “I know. I just want him to stop.”
He wouldn’t explain further.
The next afternoon, Nick bundled up and went outside. But instead of his usual spot, he built his snowman near the edge of the property line, close to a fire hydrant. It was bigger than usual. Solid. Carefully packed.
When I asked about it, he shouted cheerfully, “This one’s special!”
I noticed flashes of red near the base but didn’t think much of it. Snow never packs evenly. Kids do strange things.
