A group of 20-somethings just moved in next door. They're nice kids but their 20-somethings antics are driving me crazy, quickly. I remember being that annoying myself in my 20s but remembering doesn't seem to help. I'm moving from here in two months. Not fast enough...I need to go before "get off my lawn" flies out of my mouth. You lucky ones already living in Sun City.
I've read dozens of articles over the years about age-restricted living. Any of them that allow for comments after the article invariably get the boo-birds out in force moaning about crabby old people who hate kids. They love to paint the picture, while most have never been near one. It's simply the perception easiest to embrace. Truth is, I don't hate kids, I prefer not to live next to them. I think it's great seeing them visit grandma and grandpa. It's like when I was 30 and working out like a maniac, I wanted those headphones blasting Seeger (Bob, not Pete) or Dillion or Meatloaf in my ear, now I love silence and reading a good book.
When we lived in Kansas City a few years back a local movie theatre began a policy of setting aside certain showings where youth had to be accompanied by adults. No more using the theater as a baby sitter. Of course the affected parents raised a stink but it was wildly popular with adult attendees. I don't know why one should be expected to like screaming children (whose parents have developed a selective deafness) or sleep-interrupting, youthful neighbors. There's nothing pleasant about either. I don't think this makes one a curmudgeon. It just means you want some peace in your life. Come on Sun City!
More like get off my rocks.....We lived in a family community before moving to Sun City and the teens there, at least the ones close to us, were rude and loved breaking things..especially your things. They would run through our little rock front yard and scatter them all over the sidewalk while destroying some of my sprinklers in the process. So happy to be here. The only things running through my yard are the quail.
