That winter, my eight-year-old son discovered pure joy in building snowmen in a small corner of our front yard. Every afternoon after school, he rushed outside with bright red cheeks and freezing hands, shaping snow into little characters filled with imagination. He gave each snowman a name, a personality, and always added the same red scarf to finish the look. Watching him from the window reminded me how simple and sincere happiness can be when you’re a child.
But that simple happiness was constantly ruined by one thing—tire tracks.
Our neighbor had a habit of cutting across that part of our lawn whenever he pulled into his driveway. He drove through the snowmen again and again without slowing down or even trying to avoid them. When I spoke to him politely and explained how much it upset my son, he brushed it off as nothing important. To him, it was “just snow.” But to my son, those little snowmen were creations he had built with care and pride.
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