Park Kids of Another Kind

In the Summer months of my youth, I'd be driven to a park on the other side of town.  Mainly for variety, no other reason.  My Ma would be armed with a magazine, far away enough from the playground to be bothered by me or anyone else.  It wasn't unlike a dog park, now that I think of it.  Anyways, one thing I always remember was the appearance of the Park Kids.  They would suddenly show up, clearly not brought by a parent, and they were immediately obnoxious.  Like a fucking pack of gnats, just out of nowhere.  You'd wonder where their parents were, but then it made sense: the parents wanted em out of the house, and they didn't give a shit where they'd go: just leave already.  And there they were, in your shit, ruining your day.

I sat across the table from the father of a friend of The Big Scoop, a man who writes and directs horror films for a living.  We were at Shakey's Pizza, a place that usually is one bringing good memories and a fun time.  On this occasion, however, kids of all ages seemed to continue to surround us.  Food was delivered, but we were eating not at a relaxed pace, but one of constant struggle.  I made mention of this to him, damn near shouting it: I don't see a lot of other parents, do you?  He laughed, but his smile quickly turned to what I can only describe as "overwhelmed", and that's when it hit the both of us.

If someone else's za was delivered, and they weren't sitting right there for whatever reason, it was soon swept up by the kids who were dropped off as the family wagon sped away.  These Pizza Kids had parents who knew better but would then feign ignorance "I thought you (who?!) were getting them pizza?" and the kid was left to forage on their own.  The parents aren't providing any food or fun: they kids are on their own tonight, so forage they must.  I wondered if the man in front of me, a man who's written and directed such things to fright an audience, was "going through it" as he took in these surroundings.  He didn't look at ease.  The Big Scoop and I weren't at ease, either.

An order of something that was euphemistically called "garlic bread" was delivered, and after a beat, the Pizza Kids took it over.  At first, they covered it in canned cheese and crushed red peppers, I thought they were covering it in shit just because...but oh no, they then took it to pound town.  No telling how they got drinks, but they're likely using someone else's cup.  They yelped in glory.

Leaving earlier than planned, I turned back to him and said "I wish you strength.  And you're going to want to stay where you are."  His look of bewilderment turned to a smile and he said "Yeah, thanks, it's..." and the look returned again.  Hoo Wee, there was property damaged that night.  

Youth letting off steam isn't anything to be feared but instead understood in the least and celebrated at most.  Yet just like adulthood and bars, decades later we still must beware the Park Kids: they've procreated and expanded.  They're everywhere, and they're coming for your food.  And your baseball bat.  And they just want to "see" your mitt.  They want to "borrow" your phone.  They'd "like" some of your food.  Suburban orphans, off they go into the night.  Hey - that'd make a good movie idea!