Monday, April 26, 2004

It’s like that: Home life? Ah, okay. I survived it, but unscathed? I think not. After we moved from downtown to Glen Park, I never got to know any of the kids in the area. On my block There wasn’t a proliferation of any my age. I wasn’t riding my bike much anymore, so I didn’t get out much, in general. What made it worse was that the block became less inviting as time passed. The house immediately to the right of us was abandoned- an eyesore, to be sure. At one point, workers from the city bulldozed its front yard, but why they didn’t knock down the house was unknown. In the house immediately further down was a young white couple who moved out maybe a year after we got there. An extended black family moved in- I never really got to know them, never really had much to say to them- of course, part of that was that they turned it into a dope spot. They were unapologetically sullen; after I graduated school & left town, mom told me of a time that one of them tried to steal Dad’s bicycle, among other confrontations. There was a kid, two years behind me in school, that lived straight across the street from us. I forget his name, but his folks were nice enough- once, they drove me to school when I had missed the bus. As it so happens, though, they too, were rolling on the down-low. All types of different people would be showing up at the house, throughout the day and evening- white black, latin, rich-looking, poor-looking… I remember one time, a police car pulled up. One cop went inside, while his partner waited in the car. A little while later they left. What all it was about, I don’t know, but it probably wasn’t just to say ‘hi’. Their son ended up at Andrean, but we didn’t share any classes- the two-year difference certainly played a part in that- but I wish I had gotten to know him a little better, though; in the year after I graduated, I found out he had died- apparently one night, these white biker cats had beef from a deal gone bad, and there was a shootout of some sort on the house grounds; a homemade bomb was also thrown on the side of the house. I don’t know if it was a stray bullet or the shrapnel, but the young fellow was killed that night.

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