A little neighbor boy told me his name.
He was standing on his porch, across the street.
I said it was a good name.
Then he asked me for mine. I told him my first name, and spelled it.
His mother looked down at her son and said "He's Mr. Turner."
I should have suggested that I prefer neighborhood kids to call me "Old Man Turner" or "Mean Old Man Turner."
Maybe next time I see him, when I don't have to shout.