Sitting in the window watching for my kids’ bus. A car pulls up and a boy, 7 or 8 in baseball getup, gets out and runs to the back of the house across the street. The car, silver, idles – a man inside. I start to hear pounding, as of fists on a door. The pitch changes – kicking? That kid is really trying to get into his house. Who doesn’t give their kids keys, for Christ’s sake? The rear lights on the car go off – the man has parked. The cycle of pounding and kicking goes on relentlessly, with barely a break in between. Strong kid. And what the hell kind of parent doesn’t expect their child at this hour – right after school – that the kid has to pound and kick – for five minutes now – just to get into his house. My kids’ bus is 15 minutes late and I am seething at what I assume is the mother across the street. I want to punch her in the throat for keeping her son waiting like that. Ten minutes now. Why hasn’t the boy come back to the car?
Oh wait – here he comes, sauntering down the driveway with what appears to be an iPad in his hands, he is reading something on it. The pounding is still going on. What the hell? Now I remember that the house two doors down on my side is under construction – they are putting a new roof on it, this whole time I’ve seen workmen going back and forth to their van. The boy gets into the silver car and the man drives off.
Why the hell did I assume that? Am I an irrational 41 year old woman or a neglected seven year old child?