My Neighbor Iced Our Sidewalk on Purpose So We Couldn't Leave the House – Until My 10-Year-Old Finally Had Enough

Being a single mom means people feel entitled to judge you. My neighbor did it openly — he hated my son and said I couldn't raise him properly. Then winter came, and my neighbor started icing our sidewalk! My son took matters into his own hands to teach him a lesson.

You know that feeling when you realize someone actively dislikes your child?

Not in a casual way. I mean genuine, focused dislike.

That's what living next to Mr. Halvorsen felt like.

We moved in during late summer. The house was a small two-bedroom place with a yard that needed work, but it was ours.

It was the fresh start I'd been fighting for ever since my husband walked out on us years ago.

You know that feeling when you realize someone actively dislikes your child?

My son was ten. Old enough to help with boxes, but young enough to still ask if we could paint his room blue.

Mr. Halvorsen showed up while we were moving in.

He stood at the property line with his arms crossed while my son carried a lamp past him.

He didn't greet us or offer to help, just watched with an expression that made my stomach tighten even though I couldn't have told you why.

Mr. Halvorsen showed up while we were moving in.

"You two alone?" he asked when I walked by with a box of kitchen stuff.

"Yep," I said, trying to sound cheerful. "Just us."

He snorted. "Figured."

I should've known then that he was going to be trouble, but you don't want to assume the worst about people, right? Everyone deserves a chance.

I gave him too many chances.

I should've known then that he was going to be trouble.

The first incident happened a week later.

We were heading to school, and Jason's sneaker scraped the edge of Mr. Halvorsen's driveway.

He barely touched it, and it's a driveway, for Pete's sake, but Halvorsen took offense nonetheless.

"That's how it starts," Mr. Halvorsen said from his porch.

I stopped mid-step.

Jason's sneaker scraped the edge of Mr. Halvorsen's driveway.

"Excuse me?"

He nodded toward Jason, who'd frozen beside me.

"Boys don't watch themselves unless someone makes them."

My son looked confused. I put my hand on his shoulder.

"I've got it," I said, pulling him closer.

He nodded toward Jason.

Mr. Halvorsen snorted. "That's what I mean."

I didn't understand what he meant, but the tone of voice he used to say it made my stomach churn.

A few days later, Jason's backpack brushed the fence between our yards. Just brushed it. The fabric made contact for maybe half a second.

"Hey!" Mr. Halvorsen barked from his garage.

Jason's backpack brushed the fence.

"Get him under control. You're going to ruin my paint job."

"I'm sorry," I said automatically. What else could I say to such a dramatic statement?

He shook his head like I'd said something stupid. "You can't be sorry with boys. They don't understand that."

He stepped closer to the fence.

My stomach tightened.

He shook his head like I'd said something stupid.

"Boys only understand consequences," he went on. "And it takes a man to teach them."

I wanted to tell him that consequences didn't require a specific gender to enforce them, but the words stuck in my throat.

Now, part of parenting is hearing everyone's unsolicited advice on raising children.

I was used to that.

The words stuck in my throat.

But being blatantly told I was incapable of raising my son because I was a woman… that was a new one.

Little did I know, I was going to start hearing it so often that it would almost break me.

I took my son's hand and walked away.

Another morning, Jason was restless while we waited for the bus. He bounced on his heels and loudly prattled about his science project. Normal ten-year-old energy.

I was going to start hearing it so often that it would almost break me.

"Too much energy," Mr. Halvorsen muttered from his driveway. "That's a boy without a firm hand."

I pretended not to hear him.

He didn't stop.

"Boys are rough by nature," he said louder, making sure I couldn't ignore it. "If you don't shape that early, it turns ugly."

He didn't stop.

My son stopped bouncing.

"He's ten!" I turned to look at Halvorsen.

"That's old enough to need discipline. Real discipline. Not talking."

He made a motion with his hand — Sharp, downward. Like he was demonstrating something.

I looked at Jason.

He made a motion with his hand.

He was staring at the ground, shoulders hunched.

The bus couldn't come fast enough.

Another day brought another comment.

"Back in my day, a boy like that would've been straightened out by now."

I swallowed hard. "He's a good kid."

Mr. Halvorsen laughed. Not a friendly laugh.

Another day brought another comment.

"A woman can't turn a boy into a man. They're too soft. Don't have what it takes to keep them on the straight and narrow."

That one followed me inside.

The remark sat with me while I made dinner, and echoed in my head while I helped with homework.

At night, after my son was asleep, I replayed it over and over.

That one followed me inside.

What if Halvorsen was right? What if my son did need a father figure to teach him things about life that I couldn't?

I'd always thought love would be enough. That raising him to be kind and honest and responsible had nothing to do with being a man or a woman. Just being a decent human being.

But what if I was wrong?

What if my son did need a father figure?

After that, every time Halvorsen said things like "Boys like that grow up mean if nobody breaks them early," a small, quiet part of me wondered if I was already failing.

I hated that part of me, but I couldn't make it shut up.

Then winter came, and with it, an escalation of Halvorsen's ire.

The first morning it happened, I thought we were just unlucky.

A small, quiet part of me wondered if I was already failing.

Jason's foot went out from under him on the sidewalk right in front of our house. He caught himself on my arm.

"Careful," I said. "Must be ice."

It happened again two days later.

This time, he went down hard.

He scraped his knee through his jeans, leaving a raw patch that bled a little.

It happened again two days later.

"Mom, that hurt," he said, voice shaking.

"I know, baby. I know."

"Don't be so soft on him! That boy needs toughening up."

I didn't even acknowledge Halvorsen's commentary that day.

We started leaving earlier to give ourselves time to navigate carefully. But every morning, right before dawn, the sidewalk in front of our house would be covered in invisible black ice.

"Mom, that hurt."

The third time my son slipped, something clicked in my brain.

I looked around.

The rest of the street was clear. Only our section was frozen.

That's when I saw the hose.

It was sticking out beneath the fence at the corner of Halvorsen's yard.

Only our section was frozen.

My blood went cold.

He was doing this deliberately! Halvorsen was pouring water over our sidewalk sometime during the night so it would freeze by morning.

I confronted him the next day.

I stepped outside before Jason and I were due to leave for school. As usual, Halvorsen was on his porch, coffee mug in hand, waiting to deliver his usual criticisms.

He was doing this deliberately!

"I know what you're doing. The ice. You're making it."

He smirked. "Water freezes in winter. That's not my problem."

"You're doing it on purpose! My son has fallen. He's gotten hurt."

He shrugged. "Maybe he'll learn to watch where he's going."

I wanted to call the police, but what would I say? That my neighbor was watering his lawn at night? That wasn't illegal.

He smirked.

I cried that night.

Quietly. In the bathroom with the fan running so my son wouldn't hear. I felt small and powerless. Worse, I felt like every horrible thing Halvorsen had implied about me was true.

My son saw my red eyes anyway.

"Mom? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I lied. "Just tired."

My son saw my red eyes.

The next morning, he didn't complain about the ice. He just held my hand tighter and said, "Mom, can I fix this?"

"No. Adults need to handle things like this."

He nodded, but there was something in his eyes. Something determined.

I should've paid more attention.

"Adults need to handle things like this."

Three days later, I heard him moving around before sunrise.

By the time I looked outside, my heart stopped.

"Jason… no."

Before I could even try to do anything to fix it, Mr. Halvorsen burst out of his house, red-faced, screaming.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?! YOU'LL REGRET IT, YOU LITTLE RASCAL!"

By the time I looked outside, my heart stopped.

Mr. Halvorsen's front steps were a sheet of ice.

Not a patch or a slick spot, but a thick, glassy layer stretching from his door to the sidewalk.

The hose was still snaked across the concrete, dripping steadily. The same hose he'd aimed at our path for weeks.

Halvorsen stood at the edge of it in house slippers, fists clenched, face purple with rage, and I knew Jason and I were in huge trouble now.

Mr. Halvorsen's front steps were a sheet of ice.

He pointed at Jason, who was standing in our driveway. "YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?"

I hurried to join Jason, putting myself between them. "Don't talk to him like that."

"You let your kid vandalize my property?" he said. "This is what happens when boys don't have anyone to rein them in."

"You've been icing our sidewalk every morning! My child has fallen more than once."

I hurried to join Jason, putting myself between them.

"He needs something to toughen him up. But this?" He jabbed a finger toward his steps. "This is what you get when you let a kid run wild. No rules. No fear. No man telling him where the line is."

That's when he pulled out his phone.

"Maybe a little trip to the police station will drill some sense into both of you."

A sense of dread washed over me as I watched him make the call that would change our lives forever.

"This is what you get when you let a kid run wild."

"Yeah," he said loudly as the call connected, never breaking eye contact with me. "My neighbor's kid sabotaged my house. She's got no control over him. I want someone out here now."

He ended the call and folded his arms, breathing hard.

"I warned you," he muttered. "You raise a boy without discipline; this is the result. They think they can do whatever they want."

"I want someone out here now."

My son looked up at me then, searching my face.

I pulled him close. I was terrified of what might happen next. Would he be arrested for this? Surely not!

The police arrived within minutes.

There were two officers — one older with gray hair and a weathered face, and a younger one, still learning the ropes, probably.

I was terrified of what might happen next.

Halvorsen jabbed his finger at Jason.

"He flooded my steps! I could've broken my neck. That boy needs consequences before he turns into something worse."

The older officer turned to me. "Ma'am?"

"My neighbor has been deliberately pouring water onto the sidewalk in front of our house at night. My son and I walk there every morning. My child has fallen three times."

Halvorsen jabbed his finger at Jason.

Halvorsen scoffed. "That's a lie. She's just covering because she can't control him."

The younger officer looked at me.

"Do you have any proof to back up that accusation?"

There it was. The moment I'd been dreading.

I hesitated. "I—"

Before I could finish, my son stepped forward.

The moment I'd been dreading.

"I do," he said quietly.

Both officers looked down at him.

He unlocked his phone with shaking hands and held it out.

"I recorded it. Late last night."

The older officer took the phone.

Both officers looked down at him.

On the screen, Mr. Halvorsen appeared, dragging the hose across his lawn, angling it carefully so the water ran straight over our sidewalk.

He looked around like he was checking if anyone was watching before walking back inside.

Halvorsen's face drained of color.

The officer handed the phone back to my son. Then he turned to my neighbor.

On the screen, Mr. Halvorsen appeared.

"Sir, deliberately creating an icy walking hazard is considered endangerment."

"I was just watering—"

"A public walkway?" the officer said evenly. "In freezing temperatures."

The younger officer glanced at my son. "You didn't edit this?"

"No, sir. I just recorded it."

Halvorsen exploded.

The younger officer glanced at my son.

"He's lying! This child is a delinquent, I tell you!"

The older officer turned to him sharply. "That's enough. Your neighbor's child didn't create this situation. You did."

Then the officer pulled out a notepad.

"I'm issuing you an official warning for endangerment," he said, writing quickly. "This goes on record. If there's another incident, it won't be a warning."

The officer pulled out a notepad.

Halvorsen stared at the paper like it was written in another language.

"You're saying this is my fault?"

"I'm saying it stops today," the officer replied.

They left shortly after.

Halvorsen didn't say another word. He dragged the hose back into his garage, movements jerky and angry.

Halvorsen stared at the paper like it was written in another language.

He slammed the door and never looked our way again.

I turned to Jason.

"You shouldn't have done that. You should've let me handle it."

"I know. I'm sorry." His voice was small. "I just didn't want you to cry anymore."

I realized something then.

He slammed the door and never looked our way again.

All those doubts Halvorsen had planted in my head about whether I was enough, whether Jason needed something I couldn't provide, were all wrong.

My son didn't need someone to break him. He didn't need to be toughened up or straightened out.

He needed exactly what I'd been giving him: Love. Trust. The knowledge that he could stand up for what was right.

Maybe I wasn't doing such a bad job after all.

All those doubts Halvorsen had planted in my head were all wrong.

Was the main character right or wrong? Let’s discuss it in the Facebook comments.

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