MY NEIGHBOR’S KIDS KEEP THROWING ROCKS AT MY HOUSE AND THE PARENTS WON’T DISCIPLINE THEM

The first rock broke a flowerpot.

I assumed it was an accident.

Kids play outside.

Things happen.

Then another rock hit my window.

This time, I went outside.

The neighbor’s two children were standing near the fence.

I asked them to stop.

They ran home.

I spoke to their parents later.

Their father laughed.

“Kids will be kids.”

I explained that my window had almost been broken.

He said he’d talk to them.

For about three days, nothing happened.

Then another rock hit my siding.

Then another.

I started keeping records.

Dates.

Times.

Damage.

I installed a camera.

The footage was clear.

The children were deliberately throwing rocks at my house.

I showed their parents.

Their mother looked annoyed.

She said they were just playing.

I asked them to pay for the damaged property.

They refused.

So I reported it.

After that, the rocks stopped.

I thought the problem was solved.

Then I noticed something strange.

The rocks had started landing in one specific area of my yard.

Near the side gate.

I checked the camera footage.

The children weren’t simply throwing rocks randomly.

They were trying to hit the same spot.

I couldn’t figure out why.

Then one afternoon, I saw one of them digging near the fence.

I went outside.

He ran away.

I checked the area.

There was a small hole.

Inside was a metal box.

I had no idea what it was.

I called the parents.

They immediately came over.

The father looked shocked.

He asked where I’d found it.

I told him.

He picked up the box and became extremely nervous.

That’s when I learned the truth.

Years earlier, before I bought my house, the previous owner had apparently buried a box near the property line.

The neighbor knew about it.

He believed there was something valuable inside.

He had been sending his children into my yard because he didn’t want to be caught digging there himself.

The rocks weren’t random.

They had been creating a distraction.

Whenever I came outside to complain, the children would run away while he watched where I went.

He’d been trying to figure out whether I’d noticed the buried box.

I called the police.

The box was opened legally.

Inside were old family photographs, documents, and several collectible coins.

Nothing like the fortune he apparently expected.

The neighbor was furious with me for reporting him.

I told him the truth:

If he had simply asked about the box, we could have handled it like adults.

Instead, he used his children to trespass and damage my property.

The strangest part?

His children weren’t even interested in the box.

They were following instructions.

And suddenly, “kids will be kids” didn’t sound like an excuse anymore.

It sounded like a cover story.