As teens, my older brother and I were notorious in our town as local outlaws. We were always the first ones questioned and the last ones cleared. We had developed reputations for violence and general mayhem. Over the few years while at our peak, we became despised by local law enforcement and revered by local hoodlums following in our footsteps. Even years after turning my life around, my reputation as a troublemaker stayed with me.
Our neighborhood consists primarily of older residents who live on our scenic road on the outskirts of Meridian, Mississippi. While we have no bad elements in our neighborhood, there is a stretch of road that branches off to a dead end above where I live. The police often rush up this road with lights and sirens flashing. All during the night, those who live on that road spin their tires and rev their engines as they speed by. There have been numerous drug-related arrests made on this road, as well. Only a decade ago the police would be stopping at my home.
We watched as construction began on a beautiful two story southern balcony style home in our neighborhood. We were curious about our new neighbor and were eager to welcome him. When the home was completed the resident moved in. Dr. Foster was a physician who had been a resident here in Meridian before leaving to practice medicine in Atlanta. He had returned home to Meridian to retire in our scenic historic neighborhood.
My mother dropped by and asked that I go with her to welcome the good doctor. The inside of his home was not as elaborate as I would have assumed from the view outside. He had done well for himself and earned a beautiful home to live out his days. We exchanged numbers with Dr. Foster and asked that he call upon us if he should need anything. This is how we were greeted by our new neighbors when we moved here long ago.
It wasn't long before trouble began in our neighborhood. All of the mailboxes along our road had been knocked off their posts. This occurred from time to time as a result of the hoodlums living on the dead end road above our home. We knew who was making the trouble but never had any proof.
Ironically, every mailbox along our road would be demolished along the roadside except mine and my mother's. The parents of these teen hoodlums knew me and they remembered my father. My brutal deeds done decades ago were still remembered. I had seen these teens often in the nearby country store. They looked up to me as if I were a hero and greeted me by name even though I never spoke to them. But my neighbors were not provided such respect.
A veteran of the Vietnam War suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder lived on my road. He never bothered anyone but kept to himself. After a harrowing encounter with him one afternoon, I learned his home had been broken into with him inside. He hid in the closet with a six inch bowie knife as the teens rummaged through his home. The four teens were in grave danger and never knew it.
My phone rang and my mother was on the other end frantic. Our Dr. Foster had called and told her someone had kicked through his back door. The police had been notified but he was upstairs and the robbers downstairs bumping clumsily around. I quickly drove up the doctor's home. I shut off my headlights as I entered his long drive. Making my way to the rear of the house, I entered through the damaged doorway.
When one of the teens rounded the corner he was faced with the wrong end of my Berretta 9mm. His eyes widened as I raised my hand and began raising my fingers. He nodded as my fourth finger rose. There were four teens in the house. I led the boy to the kitchen and sat him down. I told him to call the others to him. Stupidly, they appeared and saw me standing there. I instructed them to sit. I used my phone to call Dr. Foster down. He appeared stunned to see the frightened boys sitting peacefully at his table. He peered at me for a moment and actually offered the boys a beverage.
I remained by the counter as they boys began to glance to the exit. I informed them they had a choice either to remain for the police or resolve the matter with me. I knew where each of them lived. They opted to wait for the police. As we waited, I confided my knowledge of their previous home invasions. This had not been their first time mistaking a home for empty. When they entered Mr. Vincent's home months earlier he had been there as well. I told them about Vincent's condition and how close they had come to a brutal and savage end. They did not admit to entering Mr. Vincent's home but their terrified faces told the truth of it.
The police arrived and wrote down our statements. They gathered up the teens and carried them off to jail. My mother arrived soon after and had coffee with our shaken neighbor as I secured his ruined door frame. He was curious at how well I had commanded such respect among the hoodlums. I explained I had once been like them. I had made a choice to change my life for the better years ago. But I would bear the awful reputation of my past deeds for the rest of my life.
Previously Posted on FullofKnowlege.com
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