A quiet, gentle, and undisturbed sanctuary.  This would serve as the perfect description of my block if it weren’t for the rowdiness of my brothers and me.  Thanks to our rambunctious behaviors throughout the years, it had turned into a chaotic environment of sorts by the time we were teens.  Instead of the typical upbringing in which our neighborhood forged the people we are today, I feel as though our presence shaped our street for the better.
We grew up on Foxcroft Circle which lined the outside edge of the city.  As a half-circle offshoot of South Hunter Avenue, an isolated street in itself, Foxcroft never saw many unknown visitors.  It was mainly inhabited by retirees who longed for a peaceful area to enjoy themselves day in and day out.  However, as a result of this, it was portrayed as the ideal location for my parents to safely raise a family of three devious troublemakers. 

Our house was situated front and center on the inner allotment of land between two streets, practically allowing us to view the entire block from our property.  For the first decade of my childhood, my brothers and I had the outright title as the only younglings around. With such a label, we were essentially beckoned to fill the role as neighborhood punks.  Occasionally, we performed inconsequential actions like cutting through people’s backyards in order to escape to the playful neighborhood beyond the shrubbery.  At the same time, we would attempt to participate in activities that were more on the rebellious side.  For example, taking a dip in one of the several swimming pools surrounding our house while the neighbors were at work during some of those scorching summer days.  Unfortunately, our image as harmless little boys who pulled stunts like this did not last long. 

Upon the purchase of a brand new 60-inch family TV, our pranking stage began.  The plan was to set the humongous empty box on somebody’s porch, feet from their front door, and popping out to frighten them would be the smallest brother as they questioned the unknown package.  The premier moment was the time when we almost startled one man into a heart-attack!

Although we loved goofing off, we all acknowledged that one house in particular was off-limits. That house just happened to be occupying the property directly adjacent to ours.  The man living there with his wife was a retired police officer who always wore a threatening look on his face.  As all the houses in its vicinity emphasized shades of red, yellow, and blue, this house simply sat in its dull dirt color.  The estate was loaded up with floodlights and security alarms, the front door was barred tightly, and the grass was mown extra short to resemble a green rug.  Beyond the multi-locked door, it was believed that the man had his Remington 870 Shotgun that could be yielded at, for the sake of argument, a seven year-old selling magazines for school.  Needless to say, they took their protection very seriously, even in what was considered to be the safest area in town.  

      
Besides the cop and his spouse, we had the respectable, yet dreadfully lonely old lady who lived in the brick ranch house across the street.  She would love to hear us vent about our school days and all of the stress we were undergoing, only to do her best to advise us.  Then there was the pot smoker on the corner who always seemed to have a beer in his hand and a dated Rolling Stones record blasting from his smoky garage when we rode by on our bikes.  Lastly, there was the lovely couple down the road in the modern-styled residence, who acted as the sort of grandparents that we had always wished for, albeit the occasional smooch on the forehead was not our favorite.  Other than them, we tried our best to stay active with providing comedic relief to the rest of the block through our countless acts of immaturity.

As much as we could be thought of as constant pests, pulling pranks and breaking the rules, the three of us simultaneously provided an inadvertent service to those around us.  Conversing daily with the elderly lady gave her unmatched joy.  Helping out the hippie developed a type of mutual respect.  Visiting our “grandparents” on occasion offered them a sense of comfort.  So what if we messed around every now and then.  Kids are kids.  The only disparity is that my brothers and I were kids who made a crucial impact on the absolute positivity of our neighborhood.