Yes, life ain't too bad.

Another thing I've gotta do. Learn the names of the youngsters that I see in the neighborhood. Especially the athletic prone. The guys that play basketball in the middle of the street on North Shore Circle. I like it. They're mostly teen-agers. One is particularly lanky. Wouldn't surprise me if he plays on the local high school basketball team. He's out there virtually every day. Practicing his shots. Even at dusk. Even on windy, frigid days. There are two moveable backboards. Mostly standing at the side of the street. But hauled to the middle for two-on-two games. Usually, they pause when I bicycle by on the circle. And drivers of cars and pick-up trucks are obliging. They're able to weave by on the edge of the makeshift basketball court. Pedestrians, drivers, basketball players. We all tolerate and accommodate each other. I know the name of one kid in particular. But he rarely plays basketball. He's more a baseball player. And a wrestler. We call each other by name. Joe and Jim. Yes, a good, friendly kid. With a crewcut. There's also Glenn. My next door neighbor's kid. Short. But still growing. And seems like a good ball handler. Maybe he'll make a decent point guard. Glenn and some of his buddies used to wander through the neighborhood. With pellet guns. Shooting at birds. That stirred my protests. I complained to Glenn's dad about it. And acted huffy. Suggesting I didn't like armed kids. Turned out that they shot pellets through two of my windows. Accidentally, I'm sure. And Glenn's father personally replaced the glass. At his expense, of course. Anyway, there's a basketball hoop in Glenn's driveway. On Hayward Avenue. But mostly, he saunters down to North Shore Circle. Where he mixes with other teenagers. For basketball practice. I haven't seen the guns for a while. But hey, guns are part of the American way. Except that I don't have one. And I'm anti-gun. It's sad. I'd rather see youngsters carry basketballs, footballs, baseballs. And books. But too many parents also provide 'em with guns. And wouldn't surprise me if some of my neighbors carry concealed weapons. I have deer that come into my yard. Two young fawns last year. But I haven't seen them this spring. Maybe they got shot last November. With a concealed weapon. A Glock. With a laser beam. Or maybe an AK-47. During the hunting season. In early October, I hear the bang, bang, bang of shotguns. Hunters shooting at the ducks and geese. Occasionally, pellets from a nearby duck blind land with a pitter-patter on my roof. At daybreak. Annoys me. But I don't complain. I try to go back to sleep. And accept life. As it is. Anyway, I take off for Italy. In the fall. To live with my Italian true love. Yes, life ain't too bad. --Jim Broede