The first house I ever lived in was a fine little rancher in a fine little neighborhood. Actually, it was a great little rancher in a fine little neighborhood that was becoming a somewhat crappy neighborhood. The suburb in which I grew up really isn't a bad place at all. I'd love to go back there again some day. It's weird to say that because saying "some day" makes it sound like I need to achieve these lofty goals in order to pack up my entire life and move far away back to the place from whence I came. In reality, I live maybe 20 minutes away. They're worlds-apart, though. Where I live now is most decidedly NOT overrun with original-owned Trans Ams with the firebirds on the hood and Camaros with leaky T-tops. Where I live now is full of people who want wine at the Boathouse with a view of the sunset, not beer in a field next to a fire pit.
I do enjoy wine at sunset. And beer and fire. I'm fully cultured. I'm also constantly judging myself.
That's the kind of first home I'd like to find some day. Cute little 3-bedroom rancher with room for the kids to play in a large backyard with a plastic pool, complete with a death-defying driveway to keep parents on their toes. Seriously, look at that thing. We weren't supposed to play on it or near the street (see above re: Camaros and Trans Ams--they go fast). But we had Big Wheels and helmets and one day Brother couldn't help himself. After fulfilling Brother's request to adjust his helmet, my dad went back to work on the car only to hear an emphatic yell of joy from Brother who was very well plummeting to certain death but enjoying every second of it. We also lived next door to a man who worked for TastyKake so he ALWAYS had treats. They also always had roaches, but Brother and I cared not about that when there were Tasty Klair Pies, Chocolate Juniors and mountains of doughnuts to hypnotize us.
One day Brother was playing with a friend. I'm going to hypothesize that they were playing with Hot Wheels because they were little boys, probably around 7, and Brother had an affinity for Hot Wheels. He used to put them under the wheels of our vehicles so that they'd get run over and be all crushed because you can't play car wreck with a vehicle that's still pristine. That would look ridiculous.
Brother needed music so he put on Joan Jett and the Blackhearts because that's the music we listened to and Brother loved him some "I Love Rock and Roll." As I'm sure you can deduct from my "Favorite songs of the moment" section of my profile, my family is pretty big into rock, particularly of the "classic" designation. Well, Brother's friend then says that he's not allowed to listen to "rock and roll" on the radio.
As it turns out, the little boy's parents were, shall we say, completely lunatic fundamentalists. That kid's father had told him that he can't listen to rock and roll. Why? Because if you listen to rock and roll, the Devil will come through the ground and grab you. I bet that kid pissed his pants a little every time he accidentally heard Black Sabbath. It was later decided that Brother could go there, but Devilbait wasn't allowed to come over to our house. That friendship didn't weather that storm.
It wasn't long before chain link fences became more prevalent in the front yards of our neighbors and aforementioned American-classic automobiles were left on cement blocks in the chain-linked-wrapped front yards. Hoodlums emerged. The neighborhood was going downhill, despite our ray of class on the hill.
Then a neighbor stabbed her husband in the woods behind our house. Clearly, that argument could not be settled at home.
This was the proverbial straw, if you will, and we quickly peaced out. We were building a new home, but as we couldn't very well stay on our uncleared lot, we rented a small house while we waited. This little house had an awesome basement, my brother got the attic as a bedroom as it only had 2 bedrooms and we could NOT share a room, and our backyard bordered our grandparents' backyard. We could walk there whenever we wanted! It was a quaint little home that bordered a small field where I remember running to try and find the end of a rainbow after a good rain. It was on Pine Street and it was all so apple-pie cute.
Oh and we also think we were next-door to coke dealers. But, at least no one was getting stabbed and the Devil wasn't coming. Upgrade.
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