"Hey! Kid! Get off of my lawn!"
Okay, so it was more of an, "Excuse me! You've got the entire park to play in! Would you please stop playing ball in my front lawn?"
It was a holiday - Father's Day - and so of COURSE my elderly neighbors were throwing a party. And the problem is not them. Well, a lot of the time it IS them, but during their beer blowout parties the problem is their grandkids, who are now in their tweens and teens and evidently inherited the "no boundaries" gene from their grandparents. The parents and grandparents, who are busy getting their drink on and don't want to have to mind the kids, send the kids to the park next to my house. Instead of walking down the road to the park, they cut through my yard. The front yard, the back yard - makes no difference to them. ALL DAMN DAY Sunday, I had herds of yelling, screaming, shrieking, shoving kids and teenagers running through my yard.
The older grandkids were sneaking beers from the party and sucking them down in the park, just over the brush line from my property. One herd of younger grandkids was playing paddleball in my neighbors' front yard, with the ball bouncing into MY front yard every thirty seconds or so, followed by a pack of shoving boys trying to get to the ball. Another herd of younger ones were playing frisbie tag in the park, next to my yard, shrieking and screaming so loudly you'd have thought they were being killed.
And they almost were, I'll tell you that right now.
You know why I never had kids? BECAUSE I DON'T LIKE KIDS. And having a couple of dozen of them tearing through my yard, yelling and screaming, was making me insane.
Finally, finally, I'd had it. I looked out my living room window to see that two of the secret drinkers were wobbily tossing a ball back and forth, in MY front yard. When one of them tromped through my front garden to go after an errant ball, I snapped. And yelled. And the kid apologized, and stumbled back in to the park. Bastid.
I think I'm gonna invest in some fencing. Electrified fencing.