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This winter, my eight-year-old son became obsessed with building snowmen in the same corner of our front yard. Our grumpy neighbor kept driving over them with his car, no matter how many times I asked him to stop. I thought it was just a petty, frustrating neighbor issue—until my kid quietly told me he had a plan to make it end.
I’m 35, my son Nick is eight, and this winter our entire neighborhood learned a very loud lesson about boundaries.
Not one or two.
An army.
Every day after school, Nick would burst through the door, cheeks pink, eyes bright.
“Who’s Winston?” I’d ask, even though I already knew.
“Today’s snowman,” he’d say, like it was obvious.
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