Our reader came up with a smart way to stop their neighbor’s kid from acting up. After this, he had to deal with a very angry dad and a wailing youngster. Did he go too far, or was it okay for him to do what he did?
Brad’s story goes like this:
My neighbor’s son kept ringing my doorbell and running away for weeks. I told his mom about it, and she said, “He’s just a boy.” You’re gone too far.
He went home the next morning feeling unhappy since I had put a big “Beware of Dog” sign on my front door. I recorded some barking sounds on my phone and played them when the doorbell rang.
When I turned on the light, I noticed the boy standing still with his eyes wide open.
Later that night, his mom texted me in a panic and asked, “Was that really necessary?” He wept all afternoon!
I just wanted it to end without having to play games. Did I go too far?
Brad
I kicked my daughter-in-law and grandkids out of my house when my son died because it is not a free hotel.
We recently got a call from a woman named Sheryl who is sad because her child died. Her choice is already generating problems for our editing team.
Sheryl’s son died in a horrific accident. He had a wife and two young children. What she did next will make you reconsider everything you thought you understood about family, love, and loss.
“I know people will hate me for this,” Sheryl said, “but I need to get it off my chest.” Someone might understand.
My son Daniel, who was 34, died in a vehicle accident three months ago.
He left behind his wife Amanda, who is 29, and his two sons, Ethan, who is 6, and Caleb, who is 2. They had been living in my house for seven years.
They never paid their rent. Never helped with the bills. They had no plans to depart, like they were staying in a motel.
Please let me go back a little.
Amanda and Daniel lived in a small one-bedroom apartment when Amanda got pregnant with Ethan.
Daniel was going to school part-time to acquire his master’s degree in engineering. Amanda was pregnant, exhausted, and having trouble working at a diner.
Because they couldn’t pay the rent, I let them stay with me as a caring mother.
I own the house. My rules.
“This is just for now, until you get back on your feet,” I said.
That was seven years ago.
Amanda never went back to work. Daniel finally started making decent money, but they didn’t move away; instead, they stayed and got acclimated to it.
They never gave me a cent or even a thank-you note.
I taught Daniel to be courteous and motivated, but he grew up to be a weak, obedient man who followed Amanda about like a lovesick puppy.
To be honest, I never trusted her. Not since the first day.
Her past was completely different. No, Dad.
When they were kids, they lived in a trailer. Not a college degree. They probably never ever looked at a real book.
Daniel acted like she needed help, and I smiled and went along with it, like mothers do. But I knew deep down that she didn’t have the same attributes as him. Also, I’ve always thought that those kids might not both be his. But I knew in my heart that she wasn’t as good as he was.
And I’ve always suspected that those kids might not both be his.
Ethan, maybe. His chin looks like Daniel’s.
But what about Caleb? That kid doesn’t look like my son at all. They look different since they have dark hair and olive skin.
I know how genetics operate, but a mother knows her child better than anyone else.
I would catch Amanda texting late at night, leaving the house to “walk,” or going out without telling anyone. Daniel, the attractive young man, never asked why.
I waited a few weeks after the funeral.
I saw Amanda walking around the house in her bathrobe, crying like a widow on a soap opera.
I fixed dinner, cleaned the house, and took Ethan to school. Amanda just cried and went to sleep.
One morning, I saw Caleb sitting there with that weird dimple that wasn’t from our family, and I just lost it.
I told Amanda to go. People could no longer stay at my residence for free.
She seemed astonished but didn’t say anything.
I knew she didn’t have any other choices. Her mother wouldn’t let her go.
Later, I found a message she had left for me that said, “You’re all I have left,” which made me feel bad. She genuinely didn’t understand why I did what I did.
I had done what I was told to do. I had cleaned my house. When she wasn’t there, I took care of her kids. Put my son to bed. I was done.
She yelled at me, begged me, and asked, “What about the boys?”
I informed her right away that I didn’t owe her anything. For Daniel’s sake, I put up with you. He’s gone now.
Go ahead, then. If she had any respect for herself, she could have left a long time ago. But she stayed, and she wasn’t ashamed.
I know this is the part that would make a lot of people angry: I wanted to retain Caleb. I couldn’t legally adopt him, but I asked Amanda if I could raise him on my own.
I was the one who fed him from a bottle while she was gone for hours to “buy groceries.”
He kept me close. He called me “Nana.” I didn’t care if he wasn’t Daniel’s; he felt like mine.
Amanda screamed at me, called me a monster, snatched both kids, and ran away. I don’t know where they are at the moment.
They can be going from one couch to another or living in a shelter. I have no idea.
My house is peaceful now. Calm down. I put a candle next to Daniel’s picture, and now I feel like I’m honoring him by cleaning up the mess that made him sad.
People say to me, “But they’re your kids!” But are they? I believe what my heart tells me, even if one of them isn’t Daniel’s.
What additional emotions should I think about? I did what I had to do. Did I make a mistake?