I was taking the trash out Friday evening when I heard unfamiliar voices coming from the direction of my backyard. I waited a moment to see if perhaps the voices might have been something else, but then some movement caught my eye. Now, at about eight-thirty on a November evening, the sun is long since over the horizon and only the moon illuminates the night sky. So I moved to the back corner of the house to see if I could get a better look. Though the backyard was clear, I could still hear voices beyond a row of evergreens that separate our backyard from the tennis courts.

As I waited, I wondered if the voices belong to the kids who?’ve been using our backyard as a shortcut, though; technically it?’s no more a shortcut than an alternate route. My wife and some of the other neighbors have yelled at the kids who?’ve cut through here before. The kids, however, are known for just running off without acknowledging the warnings. Maybe, I thought, this might be an opportunity to witness it firsthand.

Suddenly, a group of boys stormed down the hill and into my backyard. They were all dressed in dark clothes and in a hurry. I stepped out from the corner of my house and grabbed the first kid within reach. His wide-eyed expression was that of complete and utter surprise. He looked to be about 14 or 15 years old. The other kids yelled, ?“RUN!?”

Amidst the thundering footsteps, I asked the stunned kid, ?“Is this your house??”

He meekly responded, ?“No.?”

I continued to hold him by the sleeve of his pullover hoodie.

?“Then what are you doing in this yard??”

?“We?’re just cutting through.?”

Under normal circumstances this might be considered an innocuous response, but given the accounts of prowlers and vandalism in the neighborhood and the fact that my backyard has been trashed before, I wasn?’t satisfied with that answer.

As I led him around to the front of the house I asked, ?“Where DO you live??”

?“I don?’t live in this neighborhood.?”

?“Really. Then who are you here with??”

No sooner had I asked this question when another kid emerged from behind an electrical transformer across the street. The rest of the kids were gone, I could hear the faint echoes of them fleeing down the main street.

The other kid was dressed just the same; dark sweat pants and a dark hooded sweatshirt. He asked, ?“What are you doing with my friend??”

I asked the kid I was holding, ?“Does HE live here??”

Most kids who are caught off-guard are incapable of fabricating a convincing lie. It?’s like a momentary dose of truth serum and I was going to take full advantage of it while I could.

Simultaneously, the kids gave conflicting responses.

I said, ?“Then lets go to his house. Where does he live??”

The kid pointed and, with a firm grasp of his hoodie, I walked the kid down the street. As we walked deeper into the neighborhood, the kid I had a hold of was cooperating, when his argumentative buddy tried to tug him free. I stopped and asked the other kid where he lived. He snapped back, ?“I?’m not telling you.?”

?“Well then, let?’s keep going.?”

(see next post)

Strangers In The Night - Part II

The cooperative kid continued to lead the way. Eventually, we arrived at the combative kid?’s house and I rang the doorbell. His mother opened the door and appeared surprised to see her son and his buddy accompanied by some strange guy.

I said, ?“Hello, do you have a moment??”

?“Yes,?” she said with a who-the-hell-are-you expression on her face.

?“I live here in the neighborhood and I caught your son and his friend in my backyard tonight. They were with a group of boys that were running through several backyards.?”

?“Huh-huh,?” she said as if I needed to get to the point.

?“We?’ve had a number of problems in the neighborhood, and I?’m not saying your son is involved with them, but I thought you should know what he?’s been up to.?”

She turned to her son and said, ?“I thought you were out walking with your friends.?”

He pitched his story; ?“We were taking a shortcut from the basketball court when this guy grabbed us.?”

As she herded them inside the house, she turned back to me and said, ?“Well, we need to work together as a community to keep a watch on what?’s going on.?”

I told her that if she discovered my son running through her backyard, that I?’d expect her to bring it to my attention. She agreed and closed the door.

I nearly made it back to the sidewalk when she stuck her head back out the door.

?“Sir??”

?“Yes.?”

?“I?’d appreciate it if the next time it happens, that you don?’t man-handle the kids.?”

Huh? What fantasy world is she living in where mischievous kids stop to identify themselves?

She glared at me and waited for my response.

?“Well, now that I know where your son lives, that won?’t be necessary. But, if you?’d rather, next time I?’ll just send the cops.?”

?“Just don?’t man-handle them, alright??”

I thought about the other neighbors that have attempted to police the basketball court and how they soon found their windows shot out. I thought about the neighborhood meetings, where the issue of the basketball courts have been hotly debated; those who live near them must contend with the shouting, the fighting, the vulgarity, the late night games, while those that live deeper in the neighborhood don?’t understand what all the fuss is about.

We live in a typical urban subdivision. The houses are neatly arranged on manicured lots. The approved paint schemes, the old-world street lamps, the uniquely indistinguishable craftsman doors; it?’s worlds apart from the slums of my youth, from the de-industrialized and impoverished mid-west region I grew up in. I thought the troubles that plagued those food-stamp families which struggled to live in harmony amongst the dumpsters and townhouses were behind me, yet the same issues of civility seem to permeate all levels of income.

I bowed out with a, ?“Yes, ma?’am.?” And as I walked home, I wondered about the number of different ways my house will soon be vandalized in response to my actions.

Learn more about your neighbor's adventures at http://rantamaki.blogspot.com/

Where do you live

Where in the neighborhood do you live and where do the kid's live?

Next time call the cops!

Strangers

I can understand ''cutting'' through a yard during the day(as long as they don't hang out), but after dark is disrespectful and potentially dangerous. You have every right to grab him by his arm and escort him. I would hold him while someone calls 911 if it happened to me. Remember, 2 teenagers can take even a big adult down if they wanted to, so be careful.

Donald

By Donald