I read a chilling blog post over at Laid-Off Dad yesterday. The nub:
Late in the afternoon, we called Perry's mom to confirm that I was on my way to pick Robert up. The usual chit-chat, how about this weather, and then an oh-by-the-way, the boys got into Perry's dad's collection of Leatherman tools and used the knife blades to slice up his weight-lifting bench. WHAT? Off I leapt, sprint-walking to their apartment, arms rigid, fists flexing, playing out confrontational conversations in my mind. Yes, I have sharp tools in the house. But they're in a latched tool box, on a shelf nine feet off the floor, in a room the kids aren't allowed to play in. What the fuck were they thinking?
This literally kept me awake last night. Read the comments to the post - what would you, fellow parent, do?