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)
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)
