The Perverted Teenager

So I’m now old. And mean. But I am not a pervert!

Today, Tuesday, I’ve a day off work. I went and saw my cousins, went to the town, got a few things, and came home, to my big end house.

This house is empty most of the year, it’s our second home, a holiday house. Easter, Christmas, Summer, it gets used for a brief period. Apart from that, it just lies empty.

So naturally the local kids, the residents of this particular estate know that if they play in my big corner house garden, their not going to be disturbed. But now that I’m living here, things have changed.

Today, a girl, no older than 6 knocked on my front door, and asked if they could play in my back garden please.

I said no. For fear of a child going home and proudly saying ‘that man in the end house let us play in his garden’. I’d then have to deal with angry parents calling me a pervert. It just didn’t seem worth the risk to me then.

Imagine yourself as a parent hearing that a person you don’t know let your kids into his garden to play. If it were my kids, I’d have such a problem with it.

Does that make me the enemy, the mean old man? I think so.

But I’d rather the kids hate me, than their parents.