Life near a small town

Sister-in-law Rena called this evening.  Seems a local retired teacher who lives nearby came knocking at her door asking, "Does Arick live here?"  
Arick, by the way, is my oldest grandson.
"No," Rena said.  "He doesn't."  
"Well, he's been riding his horse in my yard, and the ground is so soft, he's leaving big, deep tracks.  I don't mind if he rides past my house, but I want him to stay out of my yard."  
"I've lived here two years," Rena told her, "and I've never seen Arick on a horse."  
"Well it looked like him; I could have sworn it was him."  
This woman was my grandson's teacher in the sixth grade.  He's twenty-five years old now.  
"You might want to talk to the people next door," Rena said.  "Those kids have been riding horses a lot lately."  
"You mean Marvin's children?"  
"Yes, that would be the ones you need to contact," Rena told her.  
I got a big laugh out of this because in the first place, Arick hasn't lived here for two years.  And he works six days a week.  And he hasn't been on a horse for over two years.  
People tend to get labeled in small towns.  People even tend to get sixth-grade misbehaviors pinned on them after they're adults.  It's hard to outlive your past.