Forced In

Adventures in Modern Living

Todos los Dias

Every morning, no matter how I try to avoid it, I am forced to listen to the crazy woman across the street rant, rave, and rail at her children. I believe she is mentally ill. She has referred to herself as a time-bomb, ready to explode. I guess these morning outbursts are the prelude to the major eruption. Is this the new motherhood?

This household is thug central. Too many have died prematurely from this house. Too many from this house have made jail and prison their constant domiciles. Thieves, murderers, drug dealers, gun runners, abusers. These are the fruits of this household’s family tree.

After listening to the morning harangue, which lasts from 30 to 45 minutes, I’m in a mood most foul, and I wonder how the children feel. The past two weeks, for example, I have never heard SB, say good morning, I love you, have a good day. I’ve never heard her ask do you have everything you need, is your homework in your backpack, do you need lunch money? Instead, I hear her screaming about how much work she has done cleaning the house, how the utilities are all still on even though she doesn’t have a job. Oh, I do recall her telling her daughter that she had love for her, but that she didn’t like her at all and wanted her to move out though the daughter is only 15.

Now, I think I must be quite odd because no one seems to be disturbed by the madness except for me. Perhaps no one else hears what I do. Acoustics are such that if SB has her front door open when mine is also open, all of her noise comes into my home. If I close my front door, and stifle in the heat, I can still hear her through my bedroom window that is all the way at the rear of the house. Her voice is always filled with angst, rage, and screeching. There is no escape.

So, I listen and wonder why I have been chosen to witness this new behavior that really isn’t new any more. This new way of parenting has been a staple of lower-class life for a couple of decades now. Fewer and fewer of these families exist in the community because they have been forced out by losing property that belonged to their parents, or they’ve died out. But the few that are left more than make up for the loss of the others.

Keeping a cheerful spirit is difficult when in the midst of the maelstrom. I don’t judge. But I am negatively affected by all I’ve observed coming from that house. If ever I get enough money together, I’m outta here. Thirteen years of observing bad luck and worse behavior is enough.

Categories: Class, Community, observations, Sociology

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