Last night, I took the garbage cans out to the curb, as I usually do most Thursday nights. An hour or so later as my husband and I were sitting down to watch The Office on Tivo, I heard some young voices and told him to hit pause. I heard the kids push over our garbage cans. I ran to the front door, turned on the porch light and ran outside - no fear on my part. I saw them riding away just after pushing over our neighbor's cans.
My husband ran out, jumped in the car and drove after them. It was a rainy night, and kids who are out after 8 pm on a school night, are usually up to no good. About 5 minutes later my husband walks through the door saying there was "a young kid here who has something to say." The kid apologized for his actions and gave us his name. His eyes told the story. He was sorry. My husband asked where the other "criminals" were, and if they did not come back to apologize the police would be called.
The kid left. About ten minutes later, my husband went back out to find the other kids. I take garbage can dumping seriously. He came across three boys in black walking, but it wasn't them. Another five minutes later, my husband comes back and says he found them. The boys were first ordered to pick up our neighbor's (an elderly woman) cans, and then apologize to me. They were just young boys. Young boys who looked ashamed and scared.
I thought about my parents; thankful they instilled the fear of God into me. Or, at least the fear of punishment and garbage can germs.
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