“He’s doing it on purpose.”
Mark sighed. “He’ll get it one day.”
I never expected him to show up in our garden.
A few days later, Nick came home from school.
“It’s happened again.”
I sighed. “Which one this time?”
“Winston,” he said, but his tone was different. Calm. Focused. Then he leaned closer. “You don’t need to talk to him anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have a plan.”
Those words should set any parent off. To me, “plan” meant a sign or maybe packing snow into the word STOP.
I laid down the rules.
“You can’t hurt anyone. And you can’t break anything intentionally.”
He nodded quickly. “I know. I just want him to stop.”
He wouldn’t say anything more.
