The Children in the Park

So, today I was out in the garden raining curses down upon the morning glory, when I heard two teenage boys in the park arguing very loudly. "You ain't gangsta!" the one was screaming at the other. Then he proceeded to list his felony charge or charges-- as opposed to the other kid's juvie charge/s. Round and round they went. I only caught snippets of what they were saying, but those snippets were enough.

Ok, so I've become one of these people. I went over there.

Essentially, I became that neighborhood mama. Am I old enough to be that neighborhood mama? I don't even have kids.

But here's the thing. I love this neighborhood. I love the sound of the children in the park. Usually, what they're screaming at each other, while shooting hoops, is, "shut the f*** up!" That might bother some folks. Not me. They just sound like kids to me. But this was something else entirely. I honestly could not stop myself. So now, I'm that crazy woman who lives in the house on the corner, going off on them about mental slavery and how I teach at Auburn prison and they don't want no part of no white man's jail, believe me. And they were as polite as concern for their cool allowed them to be. And they argued a little bit more. And then they went off home. But now, I feel like I need to go down to the county Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention program and somehow get myself assigned to these kids.

Meanwhile, various neighbors passed by while I was ripping out weeds. They introduced themselves and said how pretty the flowers looked. Some remarked at how the house "always seemed empty," that until today they didn't even know whether anyone lived here.