Initially, I tried to ignore it, hoping it would stop on its own. It didn’t. It became a predictable pattern: 3:47 PM—ding-dong, followed by the distinct sound of sneakers slapping the pavement as he dashed away, laughing. The disruptions grew worse. My important work meetings were interrupted, my dog would bark loudly, and once, I even spilled coffee all over my keyboard because I was startled. It was time to act.
So, I did what seemed reasonable: I walked over to the house next door and politely discussed the issue with his mother, Renata. Her response was a tight, strained smile, followed by the familiar phrase, “Oh! Boys will be boys. You know how it is.”
The situation soon became serious. The very next day, Matteo did more than just ring the bell—he smeared a food product, either peanut butter or Nutella, all over my doorknob. This was particularly alarming because I have a known peanut allergy. While I was fortunate that the reaction wasn’t severe and I washed my hands immediately, I was deeply rattled by the potential danger.
I brought it up with Renata again, this time with a greater sense of urgency. Her tone hardened immediately. “He would never do that. Maybe it was one of the other neighborhood kids. Or maybe a squirrel. I saw one near our porch with a granola bar yesterday.” The idea of a squirrel being the culprit was almost laughable, but I held my tongue. I knew I needed undeniable proof.Continue reading…
