Jim and I returned from our grocery store excursion today only to find our cul-du-sac lined with cars.
“Doesn’t that bring back memories?” Jim asked.
In their high school and early college days, our house had more cars parked in the driveway and on the street than a used car lot (granted, many of the automobiles were ours). On any given night there were between two and eight friends in the basement with our kids.
We moved to O’Fallon, Mo., on July 15, 1999. From day one it was the magnet house – the house that attracted all the neighborhood kids. I never would have admitted it back then, but being “that” house was probably one of the biggest blessings I will ever know. Before moving to O’Fallon, I resisted being the magnet house. Within days of Christopher’s birth I turned to my husband, Jim, and said, “I don’t want to be that house.”
“What house?” he asked.
“You know, the magnet home, where all the kids hang out and eat you out of house and home.”
My opinion only continued to grow as the second and third child came along. My attitude was this: I spent my entire day raising the three little ones, and I didn’t want to raise the neighborhood kids, too. I’d let my kids find their own friends in our new neighborhood, and they could hang out at someone else’s house for a while.
Isn’t it amazing how certain factors come together to give a whole new perspective on what you thought you wanted?
Our pastor once talked about finding God in the most unlikely places. Not in a roaring fire or mighty storm, but in the slightest whisper of wind. The homily was sweet, but by the time we were home, the dear pastor’s words had been forgotten. Or so I thought.
When Michael was 5 he made a friend that lived a couple of miles away. At first I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful my middle child would have a playmate. My joy quickly turned to concern when I met the youngster. He was the Eddie Haskell of elementary school kids. Why couldn’t Michael make nice with one of the Cosby kids?
Don’t get me wrong. He wasn’t a bad kid; he was just very busy, and it seems he’d never been told “No,” a single day in his life. Now I’m sure my kids thought, at times, I was the strictest, most mean lady on the face of the earth. I’d be a financially wealthy woman if I indeed had a nickel for every time I said “No."
“Kenny, please don’t play in our garage,” I cautioned the boy one day.
“I’m just looking for a ball,” he said without looking up, rooting through one of the many boxes that remained a couple of months after we moved into our new home in O’Fallon.
“I understand, but the garage is off limits,” I told him. “Mr. Schneider has some very nice old cars parked in here, and I don’t want you around them, OK?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt the cars,” he mumbled, continuing to look for the ball.
“Kenny,” I said quite sternly.
He looked up.
“Leave the garage NOW.”
That short but effective sentence, along with the “defy-me-if-you-dare” look in my eyes, was all it took.
“OK,” he said, and skipped on to another activity.
Later in the afternoon, Kenny invited Michael outside for a rousing game of “Death by gun, sword and any other bloodletting method I can think of.” Granted, that’s not the real name of the make-believe game, but I knew this type of kid. The bloodier, the better.
“Michael, I don’t think we need to pretend that the garden hose is a deadly weapon, understand?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said. Then he added, “Mom, what’s a weapon?”
“Guns, swords, karate stuff, none of that, OK?” I clarified the whole weapon thing.
This went on for a week-Kenny pushing the limits without success, and Michael emitting heavy sighs, because the only games (video included) Kenny had involved some form of gruesome death.
Kenny caught me at baseball practice the next week.
“Mrs. Schneider, guess what?” he asked, very sweetly. I looked up from the bleachers and smiled.
“I’m going to the store for some new video games. This time I’m going to pick games without violence, so Michael can play.”
“Good for you, Kenny!”
At that moment the priest’s words rang in my head. On this day I found God in a little boy who lived on a sugar high. At that very moment I changed my mind – about Kenny and about being the neighborhood magnet house.
Michael is now 25 and a high school history teacher. Samantha is 24 and living and working in Springfield, Mo. Christopher is 27 and a sergeant in the U.S. Army. We did our job well, I must say. The only thing I ever wanted was for my children to follow my version of the 4-H plan (happy, healthy, holy and humble). They are still a work in progress, mind you (aren’t we all?). While it’s nice to be able to go anywhere at a moment’s notice, there’s a small part of me that returns home to a nearly empty driveway and longs for the magnet house days.