One's childhood is never completed until they had neighbors like mine! The Wilsons lived to the right of me and they still live there. They were known as the stuck up, sweater tied around the neck, always keeping a dog in their yard so if your ball crosses over the green short gate that divided the yards, then it stays, fancy cars, and a stick in the mud dad. My family never did really speak to them-unless it was to say “hi” or apologize for something my brother and I broke in their lawn. One beautiful sun shining day, my brother, Henry and his best friend Johnathan whom lived across the street from us was playing baseball—with my dad’s softball. Earlier that week Henry had been practicing his swing and it showed from his slightly above amature stance. Ding! There goes the ball out of the yard leaving the look of astonishment upon Johnathan’s young 11 year-old face. Smash! There goes the Walker’s new window on the second floor. The frighten look on young Henry’s face was not enough to aviod my dad from becoming upset. Mr. Walker never was opened to Henry’s adventous and troubled persona. Mr. Walker’s look of disbelief mixed with anger was expressed through the years of being the victim of many of Henry’s “accidents.” My dad paid Mr. Walker back for his new mosiac window that Henry created and took away his bat and ball from Henry. I feel bad for the Walkers—but aye, that’s the price you pay when you live next to my brother Henry.
The Walkers lived to the left of my house and still do live there. I grew up with them; they’re like another set of grandparents for me. Mrs. Walker always gave my four siblings and I money whenever our birthday came around. Mrs. Walker also taught me how to walk in heels when I was six years old. I remember Mr. and Mrs. Walker always participated in the Fashion Show held at Capitan Hard Times’ banquet room. I remember my mom urged me to get on stage to show off my new dress that I got earlier that week. I took my right foot and step on stage -- bright lights and millions of brown, blue, green, (is that purple?) eyes all fixed on me waiting to see what my next move will be… In the end, I didn’t walked down the run-way showing off my new dress, but I did burst into tears: revealing my fear of being on stage. As I was picked up by my daddy and placed in a chair I was drenching myself in gallons of salt-water tears. Mrs. Walker walked over to me in her 2 ½ inch baige heels and matching flamboyant hat and told me “it’s okay… you did great… you looked beautiful!”
Across the street lived one family -- I never did know their names. They were known as the spoiled apples in the bunch that you know you need to throw away, but instead you keep them so the produce section in your refridgator won’t appear too vacant. They were known for their loud obnoxious music, slovenly tended lawn, and having way too many people for a hummble sized home to company during parties. Parties every week all day and night- disrupted many of our sleeps- annoyed my mom to the point she called the police six times over. That family enhaled so much alcohol there were always red plastic cups coverted in their grass –which could use a good three inch trim. There were always a constant population of at least three toddlers in that family! It was as if there was a cloning machine hidden in the depths of their home used to maintain the number of toddlers. On hot and humid days, the toddlers would run through the sprinklers in their yard and sit on the holes of the sprinkler; blokcing the only passage of freedom that the pressure of the brisk water can be released. The adults would watch the toddlers from lawn chairs, drinking from red plastic cups, and talking to one another. My mom always told my siblings and I to stay away from them because they were only trouble –she was right.
When I was 4½ , I remember getting into an argument with a girl from their family whom was about the same age as I. The argument reached it’s melting point when she said that she had Power Puff Girl light-up gym shoes and swore that I didn’t. Those words were a declaration of the beginning of a new war! At that point I was heated and so was she from the way she had her right foot forward, fist balled, back arched, and ready to pounce like a Bob cat stalking an Antelope. I ran up the seven or eights concret steps and pushed open the two front doors. I was rushing upstairs, making sharp turns, and into the room of my parents demanding my mom to tell me where my light-up Power Puff Girl shoes were! As my mom gave me the shoes, she had a flabbergasted expersion upon her light brown, slightly tanned face from the sun. Ignoring my mom’s bewilderment, I quickly ran and jumped down steps, hoping she was still outside so I can show off my shoes. And there she was standing there and with the look of, “I can’t believe she has them!” (trying to hide her look of disbelief.) The argument continued and at one point we were daring one another to cross the street that divided our war zone. Since nether one of us could cross the street the war died. Through out the 12 ½ years that I lived in that house my neighbors always did plant a smile upon my face that is still sprouting new flowers till this very day!
