When I can, I shoot home for lunch. My house is only about 8 minutes from my office and sometimes it's just nice to be at home to munch a meal as opposed to sitting in a mini restaurant alone. But it sure does enlighten you on what goes on when you are away.
I took the right onto my street, cruising at a normal speed. In front of me, roughly where the entrance to my house should be, was a small child about 4 years old. As I got closer I realized that indeed, he was in front of my gate. He was facing my house and looked up guiltily as I swooped in to park my car -- my eyes were on him. What was he doing in front of my house? Is my house gate locked? Yes, it is...
As I was collecting my things to exit my vehicle, I kept my gaze in him. I was curious! I noticed he had something in his hand. What was it? He was turning his shoulder in to hide it from me, but as he began scratching something he became entranced and forgot to hide what he was doing.
A small orange glow burst into fire and he flicked the flaming match toward where he now stood, the garbage. Wait a minute... this kid was flicking burning matches at my house? Talk about letting kids play with fire! He must have forgotten I was in my car, staring in bewilderment at this complete clash of western child rearing. He started lighting the matches one after the other, shooting them into the brush that surrounds my garbage can. Oh, this was too much.
"Mai chai." I called to him as I stepped out of my car. He smirked back at me, not sure what to do at this farang telling him no. I gave him my sternness teacher face and "oh-no-you-don't" face and watched him for a minute. He smirk and turned his shoulder back in, lit another and flung it.
"Tam arai? Mai tam tee nee. Bpai, bpai!" I said to him, no getting a bit concerned for the neighbourhood in general. We got a pyro on our hands. This is the health video we used to watch in elementary school about NOT playing with fire. This was the X-Files episode of how the crazed pyromaniac kid began. Where was his mother? Does he have a mother?
I stood staring him down, now honestly concerned with the welfare of my neighbourhood. The match book will eventually run out, I know. But will he get another? Then thoughts of him graduating to hurting animals shot into my mind. Where's Chompoo? I scooped her up as she lazily made her way to my ankle. The kid continued to send flaming matches towards the grass as he casually meandered down the road.
Good thing I came home for lunch...
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