When I was a kid, I lived on a neat street.
The kids were neat and the parents were neat and all the kids were in Scout Troops or took swimming lessons at the pool.
They all went on camping trips and had barbeques during the summer and during the winter they all went skiing.
Except for me, of course.
When we first moved to this neat street my parents used to try and force me to play with the neighbor kids and I wouldn’t- I said they were Zombies and that I was pretty sure they’d eaten the last kid who lived in our house.
I remember the way my Dad looked at me the first time I said that. He just shook his head and I’m not sure but I think it was weeks before he said another word to me.
I was nine at the time- so I could be off on that by a bit.
The problem was I wasn’t a neat kid, I was that weird little kid that didn’t have any friends and never got invited to parties and I got kicked out of Blue Birds because I forgot to bring the treats when it was my turn to do treat day.
Actually the Blue Bird Leader’s daughter kicked me out- I didn’t care because they never got treats that day-, which still makes me laugh when I think about it.
I may have been a weird kid, but I wasn’t a dumb kid and I made it a point to never be with any of these kids alone- or with their parents who smiled too much.
In fact, I used to have nightmares about those kids and their parents and in my dreams they were running me down with their station wagons.I still have those dreams.
Over the years I ran into some of these kids- I drove one to their final resting place in a hearse, a friend of mine arrested one for molesting his children and another is in prison for killing her stepson.
After I kept hearing these stories I decided to take a drive down that Neat Street.
I saw the Neat Parents- they were puttering around their lawns or checking their mail or talking to their neighbors (just like the old days, it’s true some things never change) and I was horrified at how they all looked so worn out and old and tired and I realized those weren’t the Neat Parents-
I was looking at the Neat Kids.
I slammed my brakes on and pulled visor down and looked in my vanity mirror and checked my face. I don’t know what I was looking for, but it was awhile before I felt calm enough to drive away.
I could hear myself, that nine year old Anita say, “ Told you, they’re Zombies. Now let’s go home.”
And that’s exactly what I did.
Irregular Bones 
this is wonderful…they ate the last kid that lived in our house took me way back
Hi Criminy!
Oh…so you used that line too?
I wasn’t one of those boring kids that blamed stuff on invisible friends…I blamed every single one of the worlds ills on Zombies.
It made sense at the time…I mean, gosh, I guess it STILL does.
no but my brother used to tell mestories about the neighbor lady eating little kids. i doubted his veracity, and it wasn’t half as scary as him choking me while i was sleeping. He’s a strange one
We had this old lady that lived next door to us in Seattle when I was about 5 and her name was Mrs Parsons.
Mrs Parsons had this really nice old fashioned house and she always wore black dresses that fell just to the bottom of her knees and she always wore pearls.
She also had these skulls on her bookshelves, if it had a head she had it’s bones- she even had human skulls.
Mrs Parsons as you may have guessed had a huge influence on me later in life.
But I don’t THINK she killed anyone or anything.
Maybe.
I remember going through awkward stages in my young life where I felt like I was mentally handicapped and my parents paid everyone I knew to make believe that I was normal. Kinda like a “Truman Show” effect. I felt like I didn’t catch on to stuff and I had a hard time remembering things and people.
When I think back on those days, I have but one regret.
I regret that I was not smart enough to collect money from the parents of the children of my youth for all of the years that I pretended that THEY were not mentally handicapped.
I could have made a fortune.
I think that the greatest gift that you can give a child is not an education… it’s not attention… it’s simply “validity”!
I was always smart and I could always get attention, but what I needed was affirmation.
Charlie
Hi Charlie!
I give my Parents a hard time when I write but really they didn’t do anything to change the weirdness that was Anita.
I mean, I’d have to say the most important thing I learned from my Mom and Dad was to accept people for who and what they are.
But you’re right, I think that if we give each other and our kids that affirmation- you know, that who you are at this exact moment is someone special they can pretty much go on to do anything.
Worked for me anyway.
amm
This has to be one of my favorites of yours.
Our yard was the worst for miles. For too long I wanted to be one of those kids with the neat house and yard. I wish I’d had it all figured out at the age of 9 that they were all zombies.
Hi Kitty,
I thought bad people were Zombies- I mean if they were mean or violent. Made sense, don’t you think? 🙂
I’m running back in the house before I start strolling down this memory lane……………
You really have to wonder about the ones who live in Perfectville or on Neat Street, don’t you. At least you realized it early on.
Well I didn’t have it all figured out that those people with the neat yards didn’t necessarily have neat lives.
Perfect streets and Perfect yards – you can only get them by spreading around poison and forcing plants to be something they’re not.
Zombies.
They’re cold man, really cold.
Reminds me of the Stepford Wives.
You sure know how to have a ‘captive’ audience – I was lost within your wonderful wriiting.
I joy to read and most certainly I shall be back to read even more.
Thank you so much Poeticscot- I was just over at your blog and it’s a WONDERFUL read.
I’m sure we’ll be crossing paths more.
anita marie
Thank you so much – I think so too!!