I haven’t been entirely delighted with how much time the children have been at home alone this summer, particularly Michael. Today was a bit of a low point.
We live in a trendy, urban up and coming area, if you’re an estate agent. A bit too edgy maybe, if you’re not. For example, I was not totally delighted to discover that my daughter knew how to recognise people doing a drug deal before she finished primary school. Our leafy road is lovely though: the houses are great; we know most of our neighbours many of whom have been there a long time; it’s close to town and it’s quiet without much through traffic.
I came home from work this evening and the two boys were home alone as expected. Mr. Waffle was at a work thing and herself was at her residential camp. Daniel had come in about half an hour before me. Michael was still in his pyjamas although he had showered. I’m trying to spin this as a win. I asked for news from their days. They had a talent contest at Daniel’s camp; it was a bit dull. Michael had risen at lunch time, showered and, undoubtedly, spent the rest of the day glued to his phone although this was not how he put it to me.
After a while Daniel said, “Oh yeah, I forgot to say, there was a man sleeping on the doorstep when I got home.”
“Sorry? At the gate or on the doorstep?” I asked.
“On the doorstep,” he said.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“Well,” he said, “I hung around for a while not sure what to do and then [the very nice, quite senior in the FCA man] from across the road came and helped me in.”
“Michael, did you know there was someone sleeping on the doorstep?” I asked.
“Not until Daniel came in,” he said. The advantage of remaining in pyjamas all day.
I took myself off across the road to thank my neighbour but he was out and I spoke to his wife. He hadn’t mentioned his good Samaritan act to her. I can’t help wondering what was the story with the person, quite possibly, passed out on our doorstep. It’s hardly a welcome development, I think we can agree.
It turns out, even my bleeding heart liberalism has a limit. My very conservative father who has been waiting for this development for some time will be pleased to hear it.
If this was a soap he’d be someone’s long lost son, but this isn’t a soap.
A bit of sand and cement, some water, mix vigorously, spread on the door step about two inches deep and before it’s set insert some glass from bottles you’ve broken earlier. Sorted.
No easy answers to this one. My wife and I stopped to help an elderly lady who it turned out had dementia. It just seems that the weakest parts of society are falling through the gaps. Ours was an easier issue than yours, but there is no one solution, grim in any country.
I love that comment Henry and I have used it when telling this story to other people passing it off as my own.
Hmm Jennifer.
Thanks Charles. I like hearing about you stopping to help the lady with dementia. When my mother-in-law got dementia first she used to wander a bit and we found people were uniformly kind and patient which does restore one’s faith in humanity a bit.
Of course, he probably is someone’s long lost son, just not anybody you know (although, this being Ireland …). Tricky one and very disturbing for Daniel
Yes, wouldn’t rule out that he is the long lost son of someone we know somehow. I have to say that Daniel seems entirely unfazed but I am a bit disturbed.