Deranged Mind

September 17, 2007

Neighborhood Children

Filed under: children,neighbors — The Deranged One @ 9:25 pm

So there I was, a lazy Sunday afternoon. The wife and kids were out shopping spending God knows how much of my money. A small price to pay for a bit of peace and quiet. Well, I hope a small price. I went upstairs and laid down to rest my aching back with a copy of Jeremy Siegel’s The Future for Investors. Excellent book, if you haven’t seen it.

Anyway, I started reading, the sun shining through the window and before I knew it, I was becoming increasingly drowsy. Ah, this is the life. Just as I closed my eyes, BANG! I jumped up to see what was going on and there were those damn neighbor children with their Razor scooters. They had a bottle in front of the neighbors driveway and were using a scooter to try to smash it. Screw it, it’s not my driveway. I laid back down and there was some more banging. So I got up again and yelled at them to knock it off. They did. For a while. Then they got out the football.

I have nothing against football. God knows I played enough of it when I was a kid. Although baseball was my pastime. Still, nothing wrong with a little football. Until the idiots started arguing.

Jeremiah: I want to be the QB.

Lance: You’re not good enough to be the QB.

Jeremiah: I’ve been a QB for the last 5 years.

At that point, I was thoroughly disgusted. Jeremiah is all of 9 or 10 years old. And he’s been a quarterback for 5 years. Yeah, right. I got up again to shut the window so I wouldn’t have to listen to those scrawny little assholes. Just as I walked over to the window, I watched the football bounce off the hood of my Jeep. Okay, that’s where I draw the line. I yell down at them to keep the football away from my stable of vehicles. They ignore me. I yell again, this time a little more insistent. Lance waves. Good enough for me, that’s an acknowledgment that they heard me and if the ball bounces off my Jeep again, I’m entitled to go outside and kick some ass.

Now a bit about the neighborhood kiddies. The names have all been changed to protect the not-so-innocent (okay, I’ll admit, on the off-chance their idiot parents are literate enough to fire up a computer and somehow stumble across this, I don’t want a bunch of torch wielding neighbors beating on my door wanting to know why I don’t like their children. I do like children. Just not my neighbors’.) Jeremiah is a little asshole who lives up the street. There’s no father figure in his life and as near as I can tell, his grandmother is raising him. Her style of child-rearing is to stand in the driveway and scream at him. He’s a punk with no future other than short stints in county jail. Next up are brothers David and John. John is retarded in some way. Perhaps he was dropped on his head when he popped out. Maybe his mom smoked too much rock whilst she was knocked up. It doesn’t really matter. He’s a pain in the ass with a squeaky voice and he yells everything that he says. Well, he also apparently is deaf because I can’t tell you how many times a day I hear his parents yelling at him to stop doing something over and over. David, his brother, will end up being Jeremiah’s cellmate. And that leaves Lance.

Lance is the ringleader. His family just moved in. He’s about 10. He has a brother who might be 5 or 6. His wonderful father has Lance babysit his little brother after school. Lance is a little asshole who deserves to have all of his fingers broken. In the 3 weeks since he’s moved in, he’s broken one of the other neighbor’s tricycles, spraypainted 3 scooters (leaving spraypainted outlines of the scooters in the street and sidewalk,) knocked over our garbage cans on garbage day and generally is a pain in the ass. Wonderful person to entrust your 5 year old with. And if David and Jeremiah are going to be doing county time, Lance will be in state prison.

There’s some more back and forth about who is going to QB (there’s 3 of you little fuckers out there – does it truly matter who is QB) and then they quiet down. My pulse begins to return to normal, my blood pressure returns to somewhere around normal and I start to get drowsy again. Until John makes his appearance.

I hear John’s approach, he’s yelling something that the best government linguist would be unable to decipher. He chants whatever it is he’s yelling until his brother tells him to shut up. He must’ve been yelling something about wanting to play because they include him in the game. That or they wanted to have some fun and bounce the ball off of his head. They play catch until the ball whacks him in the face and he runs off screaming. I slowly feel my blood pressure begin to elevate.

About then, I hear Lance’s father arrive on the scene. He’s apparently incapable of speaking in normal tones. Perhaps he too is deaf like John. Or maybe he’s just a fucking idiot. Probably the latter. Either way, next thing I know, I hear him yelling, “Get the fuck out of the street! What the fuck is the matter with you?”

What the fuck is the matter with your son? I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that you leave him and his brother to do whatever the hell they want, that you speak that way to him or that you’re a complete asshole who shouldn’t be allowed to breathe the same air as me.

Lance says sorry to Father of the Year and they resume play.

Now, I have another neighbor who has provided me with hours of entertainment. The wife has some sort of phobia that prevents her from being normal. She is the most outgoing person in the world if she’s inside of her car. She’ll wave and say hi like you’re her best friend. But get her outside of the car or house and she nuts up. That must be why she rarely sets foot outside unless she absolutely must. If you try to talk to her while she’s taking out the trash or picking up the newspaper and you can literally watch her face melt. It begins with the twitching around the eyes. Then her lips begin to quiver. She clutches her arms to her chest in a protective gesture. The sweat begins to bead on her forehead before she breaks into a run and makes a dash for the house. And I’ve always wondered where she drives to since she goes apeshit when she’s outside.

So once again, I start to drift off to sleep in the warm sun only to be interrupted by the nutjob phobia-woman asking Lance to get his scooter off of her freshly planted lawn. He tells her he didn’t put it there. She says it doesn’t matter, please get it off the lawn. He says he’ll move it when they’re finished. Her voice begins to waver and she asks him to please move it. He says no.

At this point, all thoughts of sleep are gone. Fucking little assholes have pissed me off one too many times. I bound down the stairs and out the door. Nutjob phobia-woman is near tears. Defiant Lance is standing his ground and has no intention of moving his damn scooter. I do what comes naturally and tell Lance that if he doesn’t move his scooter, I’m going to take it and throw it off a freeway overpass. He sullenly drags his scooter home. Nutjob phobia woman runs inside and I head back upstairs.

I lay back down and hear the little assholes resume their game arguing about god knows what. John comes running back out yelling whatever it is he yells, Father of the Year comes back out yelling about the scooter on the porch and I begin to fantasize out taking potshots with the Bushmaster at those little shits. Too bad the trajectories would trace straight back to my window. And with visions of those little fuckers diving for cover amidst a barrage of gunfire, I drift off to sleep. A deep restful sleep. And I cannot help but think that I had a smile on my face.

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