Though it may be inconsistent with my plans to electrify my door bell, I consider myself a good neighbour. That said, this good neighbour has had a few difficulties with unsupervised neighbourhood kids in the past, but before I tell you that story, you must hear the backstory that sets the stage.
When Greg and I bought our first house, it was in a decent neighbourhood, one with big live oak trees, older brick houses, and happy kids that played outside in the streets. It wasn't an expensive neighbourhood, or a fancy house, but it was home. I bought wrapping paper and chocolates and other things to support the kids in band at the local school, because I like a neighbourhood where kids can go door to door to bother people for cash. I liked the kids that played outside too, at least in theory.
When Greg and I bought our first house, it was in a decent neighbourhood, one with big live oak trees, older brick houses, and happy kids that played outside in the streets. It wasn't an expensive neighbourhood, or a fancy house, but it was home. I bought wrapping paper and chocolates and other things to support the kids in band at the local school, because I like a neighbourhood where kids can go door to door to bother people for cash. I liked the kids that played outside too, at least in theory.
My first and last run-in with the neighbourhood kids at our house in Texas occurred at night, when I was twenty-six and alone with my two tiny kids while my husband was out-of-town. Late in the evening, there came a knock at the door. I wondered if it might be a neighborhood friend in trouble, but when I went to answer the door, there was no one there. My immense imagination could tolerate one such occurrence, but after three knocks, my fear began to further paralyse my reason as I imagined what I would do when the perpetrators forced their way into the house and attempted to kill us all (which does sometimes happen in Texas). So, in order to get help before this impending calamity materialised, I did what any responsible, young, terrified mother would do. I called the police.
Not far from my part of town, the police had really dangerous people to deal with--drug lords, thieves, and general thugs--and so the neighbourhood kids were small fish. The next knock at my door was a policeman. "Well, ma'am, there are some kids walking around outside in the streets, but it is not past curfew, so there is nothing I can do. It is probably them, but I wouldn't worry," he said, in a calm, but patronising tone.
Well of course he wouldn't worry! He was 6'2" and he probably had ninja training and he definitely had a gun, and, judging from his judgemental expression, he was clearly not in possession of an imagination as vivid as mine is. When threatened, he also probably had the advantage of both "fight" and "flight" instincts, whereas I only possess "fight." With his reassuring message delivered to the cowardly young mother, he drove off into the night, and left my imagination, myself, and the neighbourhood kids to my own devices.
And then it occurred to me. A note! I will write a note to warn them of the consequences of tormenting a paranoid young mother late at night. In a former life, I was a reasonable artist, so I put my skills to work do draw what would occur if the perpetrator cared to come back, and I taped it to the window beside the door. Then I checked the doors again, and went to sleep because I knew with veritable certainty that it would work.
The next morning, when Greg came back from a business trip, he paused at the door in disbelief, wondering if he should call first before coming through the front door. With tremendous courage, he unlocked the door with his key and came to find me, unsure of what had transpired while he was away.
"Babe?" he called, "Are you alright?"
I casually strolled into the living room, smiling, with an infant on my hip, and a toddler in tow. "Yes, honey, why?"
"Well, I saw this picture of a gun in the window, and read that if I knocked on the door, that you would 'blow my head off through the window' like this picture on the sign you made."
"Oh, that was not meant for you," I said with a pleasant smile. "The neighbour kids scared me last night when you were away, but they didn't knock after the note."
"Well, I guess not!"
I never had another kid try to sell me wrapping paper or a car wash. Word must have gone around that five dollars for a band fundraiser was not worth facing the crazy lady at 11703. I suppose that part of me wishes I could say that I am sorry about this incident, but I am not sorry. My friends and family love to bring it up, and, we have all enjoyed our fair share of laughs because it is exciting when someone that you generally think of as being sane has terrified deserving neighbourhood children that you don't know in a neighbourhood that is not yours (and subsequently refuses to repent).
So, I guess, compared to my last confrontation with the neighbourhood kids, my fantasies about shocking a new set of neighbourhood children with an electrified doorbell are quite mild. My recent designs have given me a few chuckles, though at least this time, my plans have been hidden by discretion from real people and only revealed to my 619 friends on Facebook who laughed with me and helped me strategise (and of course, to you, my loyal blog readers, who enjoy my writing because I am foolish enough both to own and to tell any thought in my head.) The truth is that whether I reside in Texas or in Australia or somewhere else, I will ever be the lunatic next door. Don't ring my doorbell at nap time for several days in a row, and, for your own sake and for mine, if you knock after dark, please don't run off :)
*Just to be clear, I have not ever owned a gun, and would not really shoot anyone. Also, I don't really know how to electrify my doorbell, so wouldn't do this either.
