Defence on the Homefront

 

I always get a little concerned at the start of these posts that there's only so much you can say about a topic and that one day I'll run out of ideas. Luckily, having three children delivers ideas to your doorstop, or across it sometimes it seems. This week there was an invasion at the house of Mango. One that was unexpected, and yet destined to be unrepeated. You see, we have new neighbours, and just as suddenly, we also have a new resolve and it's one I suggest you good parents out there take up as well.

Now we don't mind neighbour's kids – not at all. Little Mango 1 was helped aplenty with the move thanks to the fact that there was children in the neighbourhood he was moving into. In the end, it seems to have helped all three of them. Specifically, there are three kids that live next door to us that the little Mangos seem to get on particularly well with, which is a great thing. There's one kid in particular who's great value to have around because he asks questions incessantly, non-stop, for as long as he thinks he can get answers out of you. And god help you if you're particularly clued in on the ways of the world because he will pretty much corner you and interrogate you to death on a range of simple things like how trains run to what that document is you're writing about right now. So, yeah – with these particular kids, great! We've met their parents and they seem as normal as could be expected from two people who, like us, our outnumbered by their offspring. There isn't piles of garbage lying on their front lawn, or parts of engines left to rot, they look like very nice, hard-working people, who put enough effort into their kids that they have manners and some sort of base ethical code. So great, by all means, my kids can go and play at their house and they can come to our house, utilising the plethora of outdoor and indoor play equipment we have holding our house up – that's what it's there for. And if your house looks similar to ours, like the toys are taking over, then you understand as well. But we are not a child care centre, we are not babysitters, our house is not a neutral zone. And that's the resolve needed after meeting the newest additions to our neighbourhood.

It happened in a matter of minutes only – within about fifteen the whole ordeal was over, but it's amazing how much clarity can be gained in such a short amount of time. These new children, whose names we didn't know, whose parents we've never met nor even laid eyes on, whose house at this early stage had not even be confirmed to me to be close in proximity to ours, showed up at our doorstep.

'Is RUPERT (name's changed obviously although I think this particular name will see a resurgence soon) here?' Came the noise coming from the breathing hole of the eldest.

'Yep, I'll just get him for you.' Mrs Mango, diplomatically, leaving the door closed and coming out the back to where my three were playing with the three next door kids.

'Rupert? There's some kids at the door for you.'

Rupert looked up and headed for the door, I looked up wondering what was going on but in a moment I would be wondering a great deal more. Because without warning a swarm of children burst into our backyard like a whirlwind. Having obviously opened our closed door and come through our house, they now moved across about fifteen different toys in a matter of seconds, sweeping up dogs and babies, loose change, and anything else that got in their way. I'm not sure how many there were – I couldn't really count them all for their constant movement – I think there was probably about sixteen (or that's what it appeared like after they had left). Two of the boys who didn't seem to have ears that operated in any normal fashion (I'll call them Cletus and Jim-Bob, although their real names were the type that you instantly knew what kind of kid they were – it's funny how parents know to name bad kids with stupid names) decided the trampoline was theirs and bounced furiously on it like annoying jack-in-the-boxes, ignoring our shouts at them of, 'Who are you?!' and 'What are you doing here?!' One of the girls, we managed to get her name out of her between her constant shouts at Little Mango Dog to 'Drop it, Drop it, Drop it, Drop it, Drop it, Drop it, Drop it, Drop it, Drop it.... (anyone else would have probably changed tactics when it didn't work the first fifteen times and when everyone around you was explaining the trick to getting the ball from our dog). Her name, I think, was Chernukra, or Rehachooah or something (it was probably an ancient Aztec name meaning 'looks like Miss Piggy' – I honestly don't know what's got into parents of the last two generations, we just think anything can be a name. I told Mrs Mango we should have called our kids . (as in full stop) or just a clicking noise – now that would be original) and needless to say, she didn't seem to have functional ears either. Maybe that was the problem – they were all deaf, which would explain a lot and possibly give me reason to excuse them, but I think not. As the mob of children that had relentlessly burst forth from the loins of our unknown neighbours, and who I'm pretty sure are continuing to do so (seriously, contraception guys – come on, do us a favour) continued to run amok like wild beasts in our backyard, my wife and I stood dumbfounded and couldn't quite understand what had just happened. Had we invited them in? I didn't think their type were able to cross the threshold of a house without being invited first.... or was that vampires?

I'm pretty sure whatever it was, we wouldn't have let our kids cross the threshold of a house who inhabitants were unknown to us. And that was really what froze us in our own backyard, mouths agape, as these little creatures like tornados destroyed their surroundings – who the hell lets their kids run rampant around a neighbourhood they've just moved to, going into the houses of people they don't know, without being invited, without being welcomed in, and treating the place like it was theirs? Have we learnt nothing from the tragedies of the past, that has led some of us to a fearful place of parental paranoia - is Stranger Danger, as an idea, dead in the water? Is there no such things as personal property, or space, or listening when adults talk, or just acting like a human being, that matters a damn anymore? See, that's the trouble, always has and always will be, with being a parent - is that if you care about your child and their upbringing, you will always be at the mercy of the hundreds of parents that don't. In school, in sport, in neighbourhood play, whether rich or poor, black or white, wherever you are - whether it's in trying to provide your kids with a productive classroom, an inspiring and compassionate moral code, or just a childhood free of parasitic and infectious diseases, there will always be an element threatening to bring all your hard work down. And as sympathetic as I am with the social conditions of some of these kids, and as aware of the long term implications of the cycles of dependance caused by them, and as much as I would love to see them turn into functional and motivated members of society - it's probably not going to happen. Even if it does, there are plenty of other people in their lives, hopefully wonderful and inspiring, who may make a difference to their future - the man around the corner with the three kids they don't know, whose house they like to trash, probably won't be necessary in providing them insight. It may be cynical, it may be depressing, but it's reality. The best I can do is teach my kids the right way, try to set a good example, and hope for the best.

So after all this went through my head, and my wife and I had this conversation psychically, as we stood like stunned fish, staring at each other and the place fall around us, we realised what we had to do. We managed to wrestle the trampoline away from Cletus and Jim-Bob, who I think might have been trying to carry it home, and told them either to go an play at their house, or play at Rupert's house, anywhere but our house. They registered their understanding by a series of grunts and clicks, before punching each other in the head and running out of the house, probably to go and break into somebody else's. Hirorouahah, or whatever her name was, was a little harder to get rid of. After finally getting the ball from Little Mango Dog, although she never gave us saying "Drop it" to him, she managed to throw the ball so far that it not only went over the fence, but flew over the neighbour behind's house and over another fence. Needless to say, she said sorry about putting our dog's ball into orbit (which I was thankful for at least), but it didn't help the fact that now Little Mango Dog just looked dejected. So then we went to herd her away as well - luckily though she was bored a second later and ran off by herself. Her ten brothers and sixteen cousins followed (I could be exaggerating here - there was probably a few that was both) and left our house in a sort of peace that follows a building shortly after it's been razed to the ground by an air raid. It was a frenzied and merciless attack that left us with a frightening glimpse of the future.

One of the next-door neighbour's kids, Lisa (Little Mango 1's age, with name changed again) commented that those kids were really rough and that we shouldn't let them into our house, and that she wasn't going to let them into her house either (clever girl). My wife and I quickly agreed. 

No Sirey-Bob, do not let them in again.

So that's our resolution - if we don't know them, don't need them around, don't like what they're teaching our kids, or just plain don't like them, then they don't come in. At all. I may be a compassionate person, but we all have to draw the line somewhere. We spend a lot of time raising our kids the way we want them to be and are not here to care for the needs of loud, angry neighbourhood wanderers, forcing their way into the comfort and loving surrounds of our family home because they can't find it in theirs, and leaving everything devastated and hollow in their wake. Personal responsibility is a great thing, essential to our future as a species, and these young ferals (I mean this in the nicest possible way) are not mine.

So heed this advice good parents, lest you be converged upon by a pack of wild street kids, barging into your house looking for toys the way zombies look for brains, and leaving your house looking just as messy. If you don't stop it one time, it'll happen all the time. Do not, I repeat do not, for the love of god, let these creatures into your house, or see it all go to pieces along with your hopes and dreams of a stable, happy and purposeful family life. Learn from history's, or our, mistakes or see them repeated in the future.