The Irresistible Urge To Do Wrong: Step 37

As eluded to in previous stories the period of time during which individuals pass through junior high, middle, or whatever the popular term is for the school where grades seven and eight and possibly one on either side occurs is fraught with raging hormones. Needless to say medical and scientific journals are filled with articles explaining how this impacts these individuals sudden urge to stare longingly at the person of the opposite sex who previously was completely ignored. Or, how these individuals change from wearing mismatched, inside out, and sometimes foul smelling clothes to insisting on only fresh pressed designer labeled fashions. And why these same individuals who for the past dozen years could care less what kinds of stains their parents had to wash out of their clothes wanted to do their own wash to avoid questions about the secretions which magically appeared in their underwear or pajamas. However, it is difficult at least from a scientific or medical point of view to explain what impact hormones play in the emergence of delinquent behavior. All right, so my moral character may have already been called into question when a few years earlier I had stolen money from my mother’s jewelry box and my father’s sock drawer, but that was a family matter. What I am about to reveal while probably not documented in the annals of Milwaukee crime, definitely moved outside the home and into the community. While not trying to protect any of the individuals involved in this episode of my life in the interests of accuracy and lack of recall my collaborators will remain nameless. To be fair I am quite certain Ron, cousin Jim, nor anyone else previously mentioned were party to this event. On our way home from Samuel Morse we would pass a number of homes with well-manicured lawns. One such home sat on a corner and was facing the street perpendicular to 84^th Street just down the road from the school. Beyond the house were tall bushes separating the well-manicured lawn from the adjoining alley. Now, let me be clear, the people who lived inside this house were completely unknown to my friends and me and did nothing to provoke our actions. For some reason, and once again it would be nice to blame those hormones but I don’t see how, we thought it was amusing to run up on the stoop, push the doorbell and hide behind the bushes. With sweaty palms and hearts pounding we glanced out from the leafy cover to witness our victims consternation. After a while they must have realized the futility of responding and just ignored our best efforts. So, after striking several times we would return to our casual walk home. But, we had to do it one time too many. When the sound of that siren came from behind me I could feel myself gasp for breath. Kids I knew well and mere acquaintances stopped on 84^th Street and watched as my friends and I sat in the rear of the patrol car. Other than asking my name and address the rest of the questions, too, have faded in my memory. Something about what our parents would think if these fine officers went out of their way to take us home was most likely in the mix. Again, though they let us out to walk the rest of the way home in silence, the image planted in my brain was significant enough to slam the brakes on what might have been a ruthless life of crime. Your comments, criticisms, thoughts and ideas are welcome and appreciated.