In Persuasion Nation by George Saunders

Jesus, I Am a Woman, You're
Hurting Me, the Kids Are Watching, and so on.
    Because
that's the kind of guy he is.
    So
I wonked him again, and when she crawled at me, going, Please,
Please, I had to push her back down, not in a mean way but in a like
stay-there way, which is when, of course, just my luck, the kids came
running in—these Adams kids, I should say, are little
thespians, constantly doing musicals in the back yard, etc., etc.—so
they're, you know, all dramatic: Mummy, Daddy! And, O.K., that was
unfortunate, so I tried to leave, but they were standing there in the
doorway, blocking me, like, Duh, we do not know which way to turn, we
are stunned. So I shoved my way out, not rough, very gentle—I
felt for them, having on more than one occasion heard Adams whaling
on them, too—but one did go down, just on one knee, and I
helped her up, and she tried to bite me! She did not seem to know
what was what, and it hurt, and made me mad, so I went over to Adams,
who was just getting up, and gave him this like proxy wonk on top of
his head, in exchange for the biting.
    Keep
your damn, I said. Keep your goddam kids from—
    Then
I needed some air, so I walked around the block, but still it wasn't
sitting right. Because now it begins, you know? Adams over there all
pissed off, saying false things about me to those kids, which, due to
what they had seen (the wonking) and what they had not seen (him in
his underwear, facing my kids' room), they were probably swallowing
every mistruth, and I was like, Great, now they hate me, like I'm the bad guy in this, and all summer it's going to be pranks, my hose
slit and syrup in my gas tank, or all of a sudden our dog has a burn
mark on her belly.
    So
I type up these like handbills, saying, Just So You Know, Your Dad
Was Standing Naked in My Kitchen, Facing My Kids' Room. And I tape
one inside their screen door so they'll be sure and see it when they
go to softball later, then I stuff like nine in their mailbox, and on
the rest I cross out "Your Dad" and put in "Frank
Adams" and distribute them in mailboxes around the block.
    All
night it's call after call from the neighbors, saying, you know, Call
the cops, Adams needs help, he's a goof, I've always hated him, maybe
a few of us should go over there, let us work with you on this, do
not lose your cool. That sort of thing. Which was all well and good,
but then I go out for a smoke around midnight and what is he looking
at, all hateful? Their houses? Don't kid yourself. He is looking at
my house, with that smoldering look, and I am like, What are you
looking at?
    I
am what I am, he says.
    You
fuck, I say, and rush over to wonk him, but he runs inside.
    And,
as far as cops, my feeling was: What am I supposed to do, wait until
he's back in my house, then call the cops and hope he stays facing my
kids' room, in his shorts, until they arrive?
    No,
sorry, that is not my way.
    The
next day my little guy, Brian, is standing at the back door, with his
kite, and I like reach over and pop the door shut, going, Nope, nope,
you know very well why not, Champ.
    So
there's my poor kid, kite in lap all afternoon, watching some dumb
art guy on PBS saying, Shading Is One Way We Make Depth, How About
Trying It Relevant to This Stump Here?
    Then
Monday morning I see Adams walking toward his car and again he gives
me that smoldering look! Never have I received such a hateful look.
And flips me the bird! As if he is the one who is right! So I rush
over to wonk him, only he gets in the car and pulls away.
    All
day that look was in my mind, that look of hate.
    And
I thought, If that was me, if I had that hate level, what would I do?
Well, one thing I would do is hold it in and hold it in and then one
night it would overflow and I would sneak into the house of my enemy
and stab him and his family in their sleep. Or shoot them. I would.
You would have to. It is human nature. I am not blaming anybody.
    I
thought, I have to be cautious and protect my family or their