“When did you get to be a ‘Get off my lawn’ person?”
My eldest child professed confusion about some things that I had told her, behaviors of mine that mystified her. She should not have been confused: Her father was a well-established “Keeper of the Community, Watcher of the World.” When she was in utero, some people were skulking past her parents’ window, and her father went outside to challenge them. One of them — the lookout? — moved toward the challenger, who realized that he was in some trouble, and turned to run. I screamed as I ran, a gun banged, and I did not die. When my eldest had swollen her mother’s belly with eight month’s growth, a man climbed into the window of her parent’s apartment and made an attempt to . . .? We’ll never know, since her mother managed to awaken her dad, who leapt from the bed and chased the intruder. I strapped a sword on my back and mounted a steed, a Suzuki 125 on road/off road motorcycle, and sought revenge for the violation of my home, for the fear delivered to my bride.
I currently rent property in the Indianapolis community of Irvington. My first apartment in Irvington did not have grass that I had to mow. My current domicile, which I share with my youngest daughter and her child, has a front yard and a back yard that need to be mowed in the growing seasons. My daughter is the aggressive mower, though: she keeps the old man from the grass-chompers. She agrees with her sister about “the lawn,” though for different reasons: she is concerned that someone carrying a gun may object to my objection.
I live on a small street that is approximately three cars wide. If parking were allowed on both sides of the street, there would be little room for cars to pass between. When I sit on the front porch, I see cars driving south on the major street that represents the terminus of my street and watch as they turn west onto my street. Those cars often turn into the driveway that leads to the garage that is part of the property that I rent, back up, and return to the major street. I object, Your Honor. My three-year-old granddaughter plays on the front lawn and in the driveway that those travelers use as a convenient way to avoid making a three-point turn. One day, as I walked toward the street, a car met me at the head of the driveway. I stood in the middle of the gravel path and asked the driver if he was coming to visit me. He replied that he wanted to turn around. I gave him a brief but intense stink-eye, told him not to mash my granddaughter, then walked away.
When I was young, I remember running through the back yards of neighbors, but never with the idea that my intrusion was welcomed. I knew that if I were seen, I would be in trouble, though I had yet to learn of the concept of trespassing. I just knew not to go where I had not been invited. I have seen more than one person in this neighborhood use other people’s driveways to turn around, even on a street wide enough to easily execute a three-point turn. When my granddaughter breaks into her clumsy, stumbling, and joyful run down the gravel of our driveway, I do not want your car to greet her. That concern doesn’t seem unreasonable to me.
Get off my lawn.
cjon3acd@att.net