Friday, April 26, 2002

Vicious Vermin Vandals

First -- I don't hate kids.

Just because I am not rushing to have any, does not mean I hate them.

However, I think they have their place and part of that place is good behavior and a healthy respect for adults.

Not the sort of respect that allows a priest to take advantage of choir boys, but the kind that makes them think twice about the tone of voice they use with teachers and neighbors.

An article from the Pensacola News Herald struck a chord yesterday:

Marcus Michles awoke with a start about 1:30 a.m.

Heart hammering, he heard a commotion outside.

He grabbed his gun.

But when the Gulf Breeze father looked out the window, all he saw was white toilet paper everywhere.

In the tradition of Gulf Breeze High School's homecoming week, Michles' Fairpoint Drive home and vehicles had been "rolled" by six teens on Oct. 30. Toilet paper hung from tree branches. It draped bushes. Cars were encased in the hard-to-remove paper.

An angry Michles, 40, bolted from his home and chased down the culprits.

Police reports state that two teen-age boys said Michles pulled them from a vehicle, punched one in the mouth, dragged both to the porch of his home, then went inside and came back with his 9mm Glock, which he pointed at the other teen's head.

The attorney was charged with aggravated assault involving a deadly weapon, later reduced to a misdemeanor charge. He was sentenced to two years on probation.

The community is divided.

I came down solidly with Buddy Towe, 70, who wrote a letter of support to Michles.

"There's such a thing called private property and trespassing that we have laws on," Towe said. "He got a bum deal."

I also liked what Michles had to say:

"I don't at all want to be a vigilante hero. I want parents to be responsible for their children, and children be responsible for their actions."

Which brings me to my neighborhood's young punks.

Walking up to the mailbox at the top of the hill the other afternoon, I noticed two boys whizzing back and forth on their bikes -- mostly because one was lecturing the other on the correct pronunciation of pinche -- as in pinche joto -- pinche cavronne -- etc.

For those not into bilingual cursing -- think fuck and fucking in English.

I was a little surprised they would be saying it as loudly as they were with "adults" -- me -- so close by....

But I did not even look at them twice -- I am not their mom and could care less what they say....

But it did come in handy later when I had to talk to a Mom....

So I am on the web checking out wholesale body jewelry pricing.... when it sounds like I have a playground in the front yard.

When water runs down the street -- like with all the rain we have had -- it carries dirt with it.

The dirt ends up in a pile in front of my neighbor's drive and our front yard.

Those two "pinche" boys were riding their bikes fast into the dirt, hitting their brakes, sending up a cloud of scree and on occasion skidding up into the yard.

Even though the sun was out bright, I got a broom, a dust pan and a planter and went out front.

I told them to stay off the grass and started sweeping up the dirt into the planter. Strategic removal of temptation.

They road their bikes off about seven feet and started saying things... like who does she think she is? We can ride where we want. Thinks she's so tuff sweeping up the dirt. and so on.

I looked at them and said -- little boys, shut your mouths and go away now. Otherwise I will be talking to your mother.

One of them -- suddenly fearful at the thought of matriarchal authority -- said lets go, man, and off they went.

The other of the two -- coincidentally the expert on Spanish explicatives -- kept looking back at me all surly macho Latin male like.

There was lots of silt to sweep up -- so about ten minutes later, I am still there and back come tweedle dee and tweedle dumb with some of the
neighborhood girls -- I guess they were to be an appreciative audience.

This time they are about ten foot further off than before -- and they start the same sass.

So I tell the little evil macho one to take me to his mother.

He doesn't want to, but with all the neighborhood girls watching he couldn't back down.

Turns out they live three houses up on the left hand side. When I speak to his mom, I am not mean -- but I am not nice -- more polite, but not happy.

I make a point about the loud pinche this and pinche that and how I work out of the home and my yard is not a play ground.

Plus -- I bring up how he would never have spoken to his mother or a teacher that way --- so why would he speak to a neighbor so?

All bravado fled, the little rat tries telling his mother it was the other boy, but she ain't buying. She says she has told him about not doing what the other boy wants before -- as it only gets him in trouble.

She also tells him to stay off my property.

Then she takes him inside and he doesn't reappear for about thirty minutes.

I don't think he was beaten -- but I wish he was.

When he did come out again -- he stayed on the far side of the street from our house.

We shall see what happens.

My neighbor told me she has told them not to ride in the dirt and onto her yard in the past -- but that she has never complained to a mother.

posted by Bohica at 10:18 AM