Monday, April 9

an open letter to my neighbor previously identified as Mrs. A

Dear Mrs. A,

When you and your family first moved into our comfortable little neighborhood, I was happy to see you had children around the same age as my son. After getting to know you a bit better during one of our neighborhood gatherings, and watching your lackadaisical parenting style, I knew it would be up to me to sit outside and monitor the kids activities. Watching your son run amok through the neighborhood without any restriction, guidance, or discipline frustrated me. But he is your son, not mine; so I didn't say a word. Hearing him screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs when he doesn't get his way, is trying to get someones attention, or otherwise just exercising his lungs makes my hairs stand on end. But again, he is your son, not mine; I didn't say a word. As summer ended and outdoor playtime came in irregular intervals due to school schedules and changes in the weather, I breathed a sigh of relief.

During our first snow "storm", when all the kids got to stay home from school, we ran into each other at the park. The kids were having a blast sledding down the hills as we stood there making small talk -- afterall, what else is there to say when you don't know someone really well and don't have a very high opinion of them in the first place. You volunteered to build a snowman with the kids and told me if there was something I needed, or wanted, to do, I should do it. So I headed back to the house for a bit. When I returned, you were nowhere to be found. That may be fine for you and your kids, but you offered to watch mine too. And you weren't watching him at all.

Last week we enjoyed a couple days of gorgeous weather. Who wouldn't want to be outside on days like that? When WJ saw many of the neighborhood kids playing in your front yard, I encouraged him to join them hoping that your obnoxious brat of a son would have grown up and mellowed out a bit. WJ was excited to share his new football and took it across the street to play. You probably didn't see me sitting in my garage enjoying the sunny day, but I saw, and heard, you.

Your first mistake was telling my kid that nobody wanted to play football because they were playing freeze tag. How the hell do you know what they want to play? Obviously you were wrong since everyone except for the quiet child of Mrs. C wanted to play. But he wasn't playing freeze tag either -- just laying on the grass watching all the kids play, as usual. So he got up, and went inside.

Within the first five minutes of play I'd heard enough of your whiney offspring to push me into the next millenium. In case you haven't told him, you might start with "The world doesn't revolve around you and no one wants to hear your big ass mouth, so shut it!" The rest of the kids seemed to be having a great time tossing the football around. Even you seemed to be having fun. What happened next I can't believe any mature, intelligent adult would do.

After sending the evil spawn in to check on the "I'm going to isolate myself from the group" child, he apparently didn't come out of the house fast enough to suit you. So you went in to see what they were up to and to try to coax them to come back outside to play. Finally a smart move on your part. What wasn't so smart was to take my kid's new football with you despite him calling after you asking you to give it to him. Last time I checked, you weren't deaf. But maybe you've shoved the earplugs so far in your ears from having to listen to the ear deafening volume pouring out of your spawn that you couldn't hear the pleas from my son for the return is HIS new football.

As you lingered inside, my son still calling through the screen door for his ball, the girls (being girlish at times) ran off and left WJ standing alone in your front yard. Without his football. I'd seen more than enough at this point and called for him to get his ball, even if it meant walking into your house and ripping it out of your hands, and to come home. After ringing the doorbell at least 3 times, and persistently calling you through the screen door, you finally managed to return what was never rightfully yours to take away. It's no wonder your children act like maniacs. With parenting skills as half-assed as yours, I'm surprised they haven't killed each other yet.

I am writing to inform you that my son WILL NOT be playing with your animals any longer. NEVER again take my son's toys while you work out issues created from inaction on your part. And, in case you're wondering -- when you get that sense that someone's watching -- it's me.


Your "unsocial" neighbor


Sizzle said...

oooh, watch out. sounds like she has it coming.

Marni said...

What a cow... I can't stand parents (if you can call them that) who act that way. Teach your children manners and respect, people. If you can't, then don't complain when they are sixteen and in prison.

snackiepoo said...

Sing on, sistah!

Stacie said...

You can't teach stoopid, huh?