My mother called me this week and asked me was it quiet around my neighborhood during Halloween weekend. I told her that it was okay and nothing happened that stood out to me. Then she told me that my father had a different response. On his way home from a church event, two young guys aimed guns at my parents' car. My father took off speeding down the street thinking these guys were really going to shoot or rob him. Although he heard noises, he just kept on driving.
And then he got home, parked the car in the garage and finally got out of the car. He looked at my parents' car and saw yellow paint splashed all over their periwinkle Mercury Mystique. But instead of being mad, he was relieved that it wasn't real bullets. And while I'm glad he's relieved that these guys didn't have real guns, I'm relieved too. But I'm not amused. I'm pissed off that he even had to go through that type of scare.
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