My poor husband was the victim...

...of a drive-by rocking. Well, a walk-by rocking, as the kids were on foot. And he wasn't really a victim, because the dumbshits missed him like 10 times with their rocks. We were at the pool, and my husband went to get the car, and three dumb kids started chucking rocks. My husband got out of the car to chase them off, and they threw a great big honking rock at him. It went right over his head and shattered in front of him. He reached for his cell phone and they ran away. Little bastards.

The pool manager called the cop that does security for the pool off-duty, and 3 cars were there within 10 minutes. My step-daughter used her mad detecting skillz from camp to give the police a full description of the one rock-chucker she'd seen clearly, and asked if they could lift prints from the rock fragments. My husband's skin tone faded back from scarlet to mottled pink to regular, and the demented vengeance-seeking look gradually left his eyes. I love it when he gets mad, as long as it's not at me - it's so rare and so complete. Those kids are lucky he didn't go after them.

I learned that I do not function all that efficiently in a crisis. I saw what was happening before anyone else in my group did, but could not speak or move to help or stop the children from going toward the situation or do anything useful at all. I finally broke through my paralysis enough to yell "STOP!" - I think I was trying to get my own kids to come back away from the rock-throwing, but maybe I was scolding the little hood-rats. That'll show 'em.