Bad Neighbor, Good Neighbor
Ignacio, Age 12, USA

One cold December morning my dad woke me up with the chilling news that we had to move out of the house I loved the most. My father told me to sit down so we could both discuss our new house. I had moved more than once, so it was no shock to me.

I had lived on was Homer Street for as long as I can remember. On the right side of the street was my orange house. It had one floor, a wide backyard, though the house had a lot of roots coming from the floor messing our garage and fence. After eating some casual breakfast, my father asked my brother and me if we wanted to see the new house. My brother and I quickly blurted out “Yes!” As my dad drove to the new house, we kept on passing many interesting streets, until we entered Freedom Street.
As we entered Freedom Street, my father stopped the car on the left side of the street, saying, “There she is.” I turned around to see our new house. It was green as a pure lemon and had a big fat Hawaiian like leafy tree by the drive way. It had beautiful white sage flowers, fresh green cut grass, and a red pathway that swirled like a snake. The house had one floor and the neighborhood was right because it was very peaceful and quiet. When we entered the house, it smelled like fresh paint.

“Eww! What is that smell?!” my brother screamed.

“It’s horrible!”

“Well get used to it,” my father grumbled. “It’s the smell of our new home,” he added.

I walked around the house and it was cool. The hall had a wide space, the two rooms were big with white walls and spaced closets. I could just already imagine us in our new home.

“Hey, Dad, when are we moving in?!” I asked, yelling.

“In two more weeks!” he answered, also yelling.

As the two weeks came to an end, my family and I were already packed. We went from Homer Street to Freedom Street carrying many boxes. On the last box I took a moment to remember the memories my family and I had in the house and said goodbye.

As we got to the new house and I unloaded the last box from my dad’s Nissan white pickup truck, I noticed our next door neighbors staring at us. They stared very narrow, like an eagle looking at their pray. For many weeks we unpacked. The house was so organized it looked as if it was a sweet magnificent hotel. When school ended, then the first day of summer began. I woke up on a hot sunny morning. As usual my mother and I were always up, and my father and brother were still sleeping. Later in the afternoon, the heat grew so intense as if the sun were right next to me. Although it was hot, the house did have a wonderful A.C. that kept us cool. I sat down to watch T.V. Suddenly the doorbell rang and as always kids must check the window. When I checked the window and saw a lady standing in front of the door. My mom was the only person in the house because my dad and brother weren’t home.

When my mom answered the door, the lady cheerfully said hello. She was a proud country woman wearing a rose red elegant dress and her hair was very blonde. She had pure green eyes and a country soft voice. She came into our house along with an apple pie baked to perfection. The lady sat down and began to talk about the neighborhood and greeting us.

“This place is wonderful; that’s if your next door neighbor don’t ruin it,” the lady said.

“I’m sorry, what?” my mom said confused.

“Yeah,” the lady said.

“Your next door neighbors made two families move out of this very home. Well I have to go home now,” the lady said. “Bye!” she cheerfully said as she left out the door.

Later that night, my parents discussed what the lady said. My father ignored the lady’s comment and reassured my mom that everything was going to be fine. After those words, my mom said “OK” and we all went to bed. The next morning our problems began. Early that morning, I woke up startled from a familiar scream like my dad’s, a strong and surprised shout. I rushed outside to the cold to see my dad’s pickup truck all scratched up, all four tires flat, and the front window cracked. After the incident, my dad set out to go to the car dealership in my mom’s black Toyota Camry when our next door neighbor’s teenage son came out of nowhere, almost hitting our car, causing the teenage boy to blame my father for wanting to run him over. Many things like this happened to us, things like them blaming us for stealing their tools, the teenager scratching our home windows, the youngest son hurting my little brother, complaining we were too loud especially on parties, and calling the cops twice for just having a party guest’s car parked on the side of their home. It was like jail and other people from the street disliked us because of all the rumors they made about us.

One day my little brother was going outside to ride his bike. My mother told me to go outside in case anything happened to him while they fixed the backyard door. So as I stepped out; I saw the youngest child from next door neighborhood. His name was Michael, a.k.a. “whiner boy.” He was sensitive, selfish, short, and six years old, which made him three years older than my brother.

Michael was pushing my brother, forcing him to get off the bike, and Michael’s mom was on the phone outside as if nothing was happening. I ran to haul Michael away from my brother. Michael landed on the ground and began crying, causing his mother to come.

“What did you do?” she yelled.

“Nothing” I said nervously, hiding my brother behind me.

“You could have hurt him,” she said, grabbing Michael, who was still crying.

“What are you doing?” a lady roared.

I was surprised she was sticking up for me. With all the commotion Michael’s dad had come.

“Take those revolting children out of my face”! He yelled.

“These children aren’t revolting. Maybe if you were nice you could have met these young sweet children. And how come your one-year-old hasn’t stop crying?!” the lady said.

“He’s six”! Michael’s mom yelled.

“I hadn’t noticed,” the lady said.

Michael’s parents were shocked and returned to their home, slamming the door.

“Now, are you guys OK?” she said.

“Yes and thank you,” I said, hugging her.

Later that day, my parents found out what happened. My parents apologized for what happened and discussed the commotion. A week later we found out that Michael’s family was moving because they had little money. On the same day they were moving, the lady invited my family to her home to have a barbeque. During the barbeque, my little brother played with the lady’s youngest son, my father talked to lady’s husband about fitness and sports, my mom and the lady spoke about women life, and me I became good friends with the lady’s eldest son.  

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