Back in the day, growing up in a low income neighborhood, the annoying share factor was high. After scraping together enough coinage to purchase a pack of Now-N-Laters, or filling your stomach with cramping adrenaline from avoiding capture after you shop lifted the sugary treats, in swoop the vultures pecking at your neck for a piece. Wouldn't be so bad if they also contributed once in a while. The industrious types are few and far between even in an atmosphere of necessity. Still have a knee jerk reaction from someone reaching into my plate. Lip curls and fingers shake as my initial desire is to drive a fork into the oncoming hand. If I'm in the mood to share I offer. Leeches and free loaders need to get off my tip though.

Some are probably speculating that I was one of those kids that didn't play well with others. I must say, that unless I knew and liked you, that was definitely true. I learn my lessons quickly, and after the wheels fly off a Tonka truck, or getting back my Louisville Slugger with nicks in it, or having my pro-model Cardinals baseball cap come back greasy and smelly, I decided that I just don't share my shit. Selfish! Whatever. Maybe you should focus your energies on labelling assholes who show other people's property zero respect. Faith in the goodness of others my ass.

Our house was robbed at least five times that I can remember back in the old hood. It was a nextdoor neighboor's junky son. He made the rounds to most of the houses on the block. He even stole his own mother's frozen meat and his little sisters dolls to get his fix on. I remember he stole the dice out of our backgammon set. Stole a bike out of the garage of the people who were throwing a hood bbq, while everyone was chowing on ribs and potato salad in the backyard, his mother included. We procured a dog and an alarm system, which didn't deter him from performing his thief career ending act. Freshly fallen snow, a broken back window, a teeth baring canine defender of the realm, and sneaker matching tracks arching from the backdoor of his house to the broken window of our house.

As my dad opened the frontdoor, shotgun in hand, he was greeted by the cops who were about to knock on our door. Mom called em. Luckily they were understandable to the muderous rage my pop was exhibiting, and allowed him to holster his weapon back up in the bedroom closet. He did however plead with them to allow him to kick the snot out of Walter, the offending neighbor. Cops dragged Walter away, and we never saw him again. Word on the street was that he offended his lock-up pals enough to get shanked. I hope it was while he was getting his asshole plundered by a gang of neanderthals. Hey, maybe prayers do get answered.

My mom was affected the deepest. Unfortunately I didn't help. I tied up the curtains in the bathroom window into a bow. Woke up in the middle of the night from a bladder alarm. Decided that the curtains needed to be in a bow. Why? I was a weird little dude, and I did weird shit for no reason other than I thought it up in my head. Startled awake the next morning by my mom's screaming. This was before Walter's capture, and she was terrified that he was not only stealing our possessions but also now playing mind fuck games. Being a habitual and compulsive liar, as well as ashamed that I sent my mother into a frightened frenzy, I took no responsibility for the act. Finally confessed during a Thanksgiving dinner back from NYU. Luckily she giggled and shook her head "you little shit". Yeah I am.