Man, I've Got to Get Out of this Ghetto

Number of tents in my living room: 0
Number of days that Binta has slept in her own bed: 1
Number of days she had spent sleeping in a tent on the floor in my living room: 129
In the Attic: I hate the apartment I live in

I already hated the place due to the excessive pounding footsteps from above, and the thick, rattling bass from a neighbor's surround sound system on high.

But now that the weather's warm, the windows are open and we're spending more time outdoors, I hate it more than I thought possible.

Our bottom-floor apartment has a back porch area, which opens up to the playground area. On selecting this unit, I noticed how ideal that would be. I could sit on the "porch," reading a book, while Binta climbed on the climbing aparatus.

I didn't know that parents basically let their kids run amok throughout the complex. As a matter of fact, I've only ever seen two other adults in the playground area supervising their kids, other than myself. I didn't anticipate being in the position of refereeing playground disputes. This is supposed to be my summer vacation away from that kind of thing!

Yesterday, I got to play the role of cranky old curmudgeon-lady, as a group of 10- to 12-year-olds was "wrestling" outside my living room window on the grass. As I stood in my kitchen, slicing a cantelope, I could see two girls with their arms and legs flailing and grabbing, open palms bitch-slapping, fists full of the other's hair, while the onlookers cheered and laughed.

I gave them a serious, "Hey, you guys are going to need to stop that!"
And their return look, that said, "God, the mean old lady has just ruined our fun."

I doubt that they stopped the "game," but at least I didn't have to look at it any more.

But maybe neglecting your kids is better than what our neighbors do. There is a family just 18 feet away from us who yells, screams, humiliates, and belittles their kids on an hourly basis. At about 10:00 AM, I can hear the first cries of some kid. It'll go like this: a high pitched wail / shriek, followed by loud crying, with an adult's voice yelling one of these selected comments:

• NO!
• You get your butt in here!
• Do you want the belt?

Followed by more crying.

All throughout the day, we get to witness the kids disobeying the adults or fighting with each other, getting reamed by the adults, shreiking and crying, and then returning to play. Rinse and repeat until about 9:00PM.

And Binta gets to see and hear all of this. The only way she wouldn't would be if I kept her indoors for the entire day. But even then, all of the sounds still seep through the open windows.

Is it any wonder, then, that last night as we packed to go to the park for a picnic and bike ride, that she threw a little fit about not wanting to ride in the car, then wanting to hold the fruit bowl on her lap, with a final throwing of my car keys on the ground?

I am now looking forward to September like never before.