An Open Letter To The Guy Who Threatened To Call The Cops On My 12-Year-Old

I got home from work yesterday, and my daughter was home from school. She had just walked our dog (which is one of her chores) when she told me in a panic that she almost had the cops called on her.

Wait, what? Why would someone call the police on my daughter? What could she possibly have done?

She Struggled Picking Up Dog Poop

She explained that while she was walking the dog, eventually she (the dog) pooped in someone's yard by the sidewalk. If you own a big dog, this is one of the reasons you walk them. It gets things moving, and eventually they go number 2. That's why we always carry dog poop bags with us for the not-so-wonderful job of cleaning up after them.

She struggled a bit trying to pick up the dog poop in the bag, and not all of it would fit. She didn't have an extra bag on her, so she picked up most of it and then walked to get another bag (not far from home) to come back and clean it up.

Pick That Up, Or I'm Calling The Cops!

That's when the homeowner came out and yelled at her, "If you don't pick that up, I'm calling the cops!"

Of course, this scared the hell out of her. Fortunately, she called Mom, who left work and came to help.

But hold on a minute. Seriously? Are you going to call the cops on a 12-year-old? Maybe I could understand if it was an adult who just let their dog poop in the yard and didn't even try. I could understand that. But in this case, it upset me. I don't like strangers harassing my daughter.

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I thought about having her show me where the guy lived, but realized quickly that wouldn't do any good. If the guy is that unhinged, it could escalate. So I chalked it up to how upset and mental people are these days, and told my daughter to not worry about it and just avoid that house if possible.

There are still nice people out there, and a lesson for my daughter.

About an hour later, I was at Menards, buying some lumber to build a backboard for my daughter's soccer practice skills in the backyard. I was struggling to get a 4X8 sheet of plywood in the back of the truck when another guy ran over to give me a hand. He insisted on helping me because he knows what it's like to get a scratch on your "nice truck." I thanked him; he smiled and said joyfully, "Have a great day." You, too, buddy.

I got home, told my daughter about the friendly stranger, and said, "Choose to be the nice stranger, and not the jerk in life."