I live in a transitional neighborhood. At least that’s what I tell myself, my friends, and my family.
What does that really mean? It means I live in the hood. But there's hope that it may become a safe place to live. This can only happen when artists, homosexuals, yuppies, and Californians move in. They spend time and money working on their cheaply purchased homes. They confront and endure the crime until finally and hopefully the neighborhood becomes a really nice place to live. It takes several years for this to happen, and it's a battle where the housing prices skyrocket for no reason. This often forces the poor out and unfortunately most of the charm and character as well.
Last night, Halloween night, I realized that I was still was living in the hood. For the 4th year in a row I did not have a single Trick or Treater. I’m starting to wonder if there are any young kids living near me. There are plenty of teenagers wearing their Long White T shirts (Ghetto Gowns) and the soon to be illegal (in ATL at least) baggy. ass-showing jeans. The new homeowners in the neighbor don't seem interested in having any kids. The fact of not giving out candy to little kids wearing costumes is not a real sign that I live in the ghetto. It only really means I’ll be eating candy for weeks.
The real sign last night that I am still in the hood was the Swat Team in my backyard. Maybe it was the Black Police Helicopter hovering above my house. It was a pretty intense scene. The helicopter had its searchlight scanning for the bad guys. It was loud, too. So loud I couldn't hear what the SWAT cop was yelling at me -- even though he was just twenty feet away. Even though I was dressed in my Ninja black outfit, their searchlights and flashlights found me. I guess I was not very scary looking, because they lowered their weapons when they had a good look. Lucky for me I didn't choose to dress like the typical neighborhood teenage rapper.
I found out that the police officers were looking for a group of boys wearing the extra-long white t shirts. They ditched their car 100 yards away and were attempting to escape from the cops on foot. They were running and were assumed hiding along old railroad tracks in my backyard. The tracks sit twenty feet below my backyard. There's tall fence separating the two pieces of land, so I felt relatively safe. The officers did yell and motion that I should leave the area, which was kind of a bummer because the whole scenario seemed like I was watching a cool movie.
I cooperated with the police and went back into the safety of my own home. After an hour or so I peeked outside to see if their was any action still going on. The copter was gone. The Swat team was gone. There were a few police still scanning the kudzu with their flashlights. I felt less safe now than during the initial assault. Because I wasn't sure if they caught the guys or if they were slowly giving up on the search. I decided it was time to stay indoors for the rest of the evening. I retreated inside to enjoy my leftover trick-or-treat candy and the safety of my own home.
My home in the hood.