"Your child..."
So Knuckles is playing outside, and I don't hear any screams, so I assume everything's OK. It took the installation of a double-cylinder deadbolt and three days of grounding him every day, but he finally learned that he's not to go more than 3 houses up or down the street, and he's being rewarded for his obedience by being allowed to play outside. Then I get a knock on the door. It's a neighbor lady with whom I'm not acquainted, who's come to inform me of an incident in which she believes Knuckles (who is happily riding his Hot Wheels in front of our house, completely uninjured) was about to be run over by a hideous evil car. It doesn't add up to me the way she's describing it, so I politely say "Thank you for letting me know." She then goes on to repeat her account of the incident half a dozen more times, and each time I say "Thank you for letting me know." After the first few times, I start implementing some conversation-ending body language, because Sonshine came home sick from school and is puking, and the point of sending Knuckles to play outside is to enable me to get some work done inside. Finally I got sick of her not backing off the topic, so I pointed out to her that she'd said the same thing half a dozen times and asked her if there was some particular reaction she was trying to get from me. She said no and then yanked her child off Knuckles' old ride where he'd been playing happily with my permission, and left in a huff as she told her child he was not to play over here, loud enough for me to hear.