I never thought I would say it, but I miss the Trailerhood at times. I don’t miss the stress from the owners of the park, but I miss all our friends and neighbors, and the fun characters that dwelled therein. There was a flavor found there, that just isn’t present in a quiet neighborhood. So, was it really the park? Or the owners of it, and the stress of the abode we dwelled in. Would I go back? I don’t think so, it just isn’t for me. Having been a cop all my life, I was constantly on edge due to the things that occurred in such close proximity.
There were people that would give the shirt off their back, if they could. Neighbors that loved our dogs, a couple behind us that were so pleasant that it made the whole experience bearable. I miss seeing them huddled in heavy coats on their back porch at daybreak, in the freezing cold, for a smoke. They finally stopped smoking. They were together, husband and wife. The boy next door, who had a dog, and worked nearly all the time. Never failing to bring something home, as a treat, for our 2 large dogs. The greatest guy, you’d ever want to meet.
I sit here on my quiet street this Tuesday morning, and miss being able to look out the office window at the busy highway that seemed so full of life. The entertainment as a low speed pursuit ensued down the highway out front, sparks flying from bare rims on the roadway. The children gathering out front near the mailboxes waiting for the school bus. In five years, we watched many of them come and go, grow older, and then disappear as they started driving to school.
Then there was redneck Johnny Reb, who flew the confederate flag in his front yard. He won a trip to jail after arguing with his female neighbor and threatening to kill her. All because he didn’t like her dogs barking. So he placed a burn barrel next to her fence, and burned all sorts of obnoxious items in it, plastics, feces, paint. Then after losing both legs from the knees down due to diabetes, decided to drive his fast electric wheelchair through the park like a madman, in the rare snowstorm we had one year. Nearly sliding into the four-foot deep concrete ditch out front.
Lest we forget “YouTube Boy”, and his mother, who were constant reminders of crazy antics and a total lack of commonsense. Last I heard, YouTube boy was in a mental institution, right where I predicted he would be, awaiting his movement to an adult penal institute.
We rescued “Peppy” who was the ancient long haired Chihuahua that lived at the lady’s house two doors down. You could always hear him screaming on the porch, to be let back inside. It sounded like someone torturing an infant. Now he does his screaming here in our yard. “Granny” as she was known, held Sunday school classes on her front porch once a week. She had suffered a mild stroke, and couldn’t stay by herself any longer. This event, necessitated her having to move in with one of her daughters, who didn’t want Peppy coming along. So, it was either the shelter, where the old little fella would surely be put to sleep, or we take him in. Granny cried when she gave him to us. She can always visit him any time, but we haven’t seen or heard from her. Perhaps it’s just too hard for her to see him again.
I think of David, the maintenance man, who would scoop out a septic tank with a shovel into the bed of a pickup truck, for a measly few dollars, to pay his rent. Or wake you at six am with his Frankenstein mower transportation, as he drove around the park looking for limbs. Or the time he put his “girlfriend” on his latest three wheeled contraption, and she headed straight for our trailer as I sat there looking out the window. She eventually crashed next to the woodpile just outside the office. I don’t think I will ever forget the shocked look on her face, leaning back trying to hang onto the crazed contraption, feet flailing about, eyes wide open and shouting obscenities just before coming to rest next to the woodpile and fence.
And let’s not forget, upon moving, I probably lost my title of High Priest of our cult. Bestowed upon me due to Halloween decorations the first year. By the church fanatic, who was found to have Satanic ritual books in his safe, upon his passing.
All in all, it was an interesting time, and there are those there, that I miss, and wish the best. Sometimes, even hard times generate good memories.