Well "big" to my 4-year-old son, Noah, who often watched the boy walk home from the school bus with a herd of other "big kid" boys. All between 7 and 12 years old, all with backpacks bouncing behind them, all wearing puffy jackets and knit gloves that their parents probably laid out the night before.
The boy seemed like a good enough kid, along with the rest of the gang - rowdy at worst. They spent the summer riding two-wheeler bikes throughout our gated community, being told to settle down by the lifeguard (because CANNONBAAAALLLL!), and ending the nights with flash-tag and manhunt and other memories that'll cause pangs of nostalgia 20 years from now. They were never caught smoking cigarettes or accused of vandalizing property (not yet at at least), but they once got in trouble for running and playing outside of other neighbors' windows, which is the equivalent of a fist wag and a "Get off my property, ya hooligans."
That's the worst thingRead More »from A Boy's Last Sunset: What Happens when the Family Next Door Dies Tragically