On the importance of possessing a homeschooler in your neighborhood

With the school year just around the corner, a certain school-related story keeps emerging in my memory.

Several years ago, when I must have been in 6th or 7th grade, an unusual thing happened on an ordinary school day. (Assuming there are ordinary homeschooling days.) My mom was on the phone with my uncle while my sister and I were doing schoolwork in the living room. Important nota bene - "doing schoolwork" in the authoress's world - especially back then - involves equal parts of working on assignment and staring out window. I tell myself that the latter facilitates thinking, therefore improving the former.

Keep working? Look out window?

In one of my reveries, I noticed a guy walk up a side street and turn down ours. The first thing I noticed about him was that he seemed to appear out of nowhere. No mode of transportation - not even the bus which stops on the corner. He just appeared. Also unusual was his general mien. His clothes had seen better days and maybe could have used a spin in the washing machine. The one item he carried was a soda, presumably from McDonalds and huge enough to make Abby Sciuto proud. And then there was this odd bounce in his step which was slightly comic but also unsettling to watch. Overall, this mysterious character seemed out of place in my neighborhood, and naturally, I was fascinated.

I had pretty much forgotten about my schoolwork as soon as I saw this guy, and at that moment the sole purpose of my existence was to see where he would go. Imagine my surprise when he walked up to one of our neighbor's driveways. This particular neighbor - we'll call them the Smiths because I don't know how to spell their last name - is a very kind couple; the husband, for example, is always plowing out our driveway in the winter. Really nice people. What was this random guy doing at their house? I think this is where I told Mary to come look. As we watched him go up the driveway, we realized to our horror that he was going for their car. Just like that, he got it open, started it, and drove off. He didn't even seem to notice that the alarm was going off.

Disturbingly similar to our reaction

When it hit us what just happened, we started screaming bloody murder. SCREAMING. Mary ran off to the office to get my mom, who frantically got off the phone with our uncle. For a moment we sat there in confusion until we remembered that calling 911 is the standard procedure in these cases. After that was done, we went across the street to see what the Smith's neighbor had seen. Apparently she hadn't noticed anything, because she was rather shocked when we told her. Then she told us that the Smiths were on vacation that week. The nerve of this guy! 

After our minds began to clear, Faye, the neighbor, decided to call and tell the Smiths what happened. When it came to describing the perpetrator, she relied on my mom, who relied on Mary & I, for the description. It went something like this: "Patty's here and she says he looked sorta rough like a wanderer......kind of shabby......like a homeless guy. A....derelict. What? Really? Ohhh." As soon as she got off the phone, she explained the last part of the conversation.

This unscrupulous, creepy, homeless guy turned out to be Mrs. Smith's brother who had come for their car so he could pick them up at the airport. And my mom had just called him a derelict to his sister's face.

You'd better believe it

When we were walking home in shame, the cops finally pulled up. Great response time. Later that week, Mr. Smith, apparently in gratitude for our nosiness, gave us $10 in Culvers coupons. He had discovered the moral of the story: It pays to have homeschoolers living in your neighborhood.