The first time the neighborhood hooligans came, it was summer. We never saw them, and if our mild-mannered lapdog heard anything, he kept quiet about it. But in the morning, there were three long gashes in the middle of our backyard trampoline.
The trampoline was a hand-me-down from a relative, and I had mixed feelings about it anyway. It had no safety net, and when my son, Dane (barely three at the time) went sailing around on it with his Dad on summer evenings, I got all tripped up over fear and worst-case-scenarios.
But still – to see it stabbed and gutted like that, knife-torn in the daylight, broke my Mama-heart. [Read the full post here](image source – tyler tarver, creationswap)