My Son Kept Building a Snowman, and My Neighbor Kept Running It Over with His Car – So My Child Taught the Grown Man a Lesson He’ll Never Forget

He’d throw his backpack down, fight with his boots, and wrestle his coat on crooked. Half the time his hat was covering one eye.

“I’m good,” he’d grumble when I tried to straighten it. “Snowmen don’t care what I look like.”

Our front yard became his workshop.

Same corner every day, near the driveway but clearly on our side.

He’d roll the snow into lumpy spheres. Sticks for arms. Pebbles for eyes and buttons.

And that ratty red scarf he insisted made them “official.”

He named every single one.

He would step back, hands on his hips, and go, “Yeah. That’s a good guy.”

I loved watching him through the kitchen window. Eight years old, out there talking to his little snow people like they were coworkers.

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