Making my Own Boundaries

Kids are mean. Not all kids are always mean, but some seem to have the mean gene passed on to them by unhappy parents.

Our neighbor girl (Helga) is 12 with a mean streak finely honed by loneliness and inattentive parenting. Dad is a blowhard in love with grass cutting. Mom is ditzy with the characteristics of a closet drinker. The older brother has a recently diagnosed condition which his parents ignored until he reached middle school and therefore allowed him to miss out on the help occupational therapy and medication could have brought him.

I've dealt with dad's rage over a suspected infraction by my second son. I've watched Helga taunt my son into active anger, get hurt and run to father. Helga has told my children she will tell on them and her dad will get mad at me, the mom. Trash talk between families occurs weekly, with the latest being over property infractions.

Saturday my kids were raking and dared grab leaves from "their side of the yard". Since my front window opens quietly and allows me unsuspected eavesdropping, I overheard this argument and took action. Grabbing a can of Lilac spray paint (purchased for a project long ago) I walked out between yards and started spraying. Saying nothing, just spraying.

When I was done, Helga asked me what I was doing. I told her I was marking the property so that the discussion of who owned which leaves could end. She seemed more surprised than upset by this bizarre action on my part, and the argument ended.

The purple line is evident three days later. Our friends a few houses down came over to discover the origin of the line, and found the practical solution to an age-old kid argument hysterical.