We used to play almost every sport in our front yard. The neighbor's all despised the Looman brothers. That was evident by the number of times the cops showed up in the driveway. If anything went wrong, it was our fault; and most of the time, it was, but we lied our way out of a lot of it.

There was a hedge that seperated our yard from the neighbors yards on either side. On one side, we had the Huyser's. Mr. Huyser was a grumpy old guy with a pipe. When games of football were played, the hedges were the end zone. That meant a lot of diving through them.. and more times than not, we would jump through them on purpose just to piss him off. We took full advantage to spite him any chance we had. We were kids; breaking and ruining things was cool.

When our parents left, the fun sports began. I can remember it as if it were yesterday. We'd grab the aluminum baseball bat, and reach into my dad's golf bag and get a handfull of golf balls. Out on to the street we ran, as if we never had enough time. Bouncing the golf balls once on the pavement, we swung like Babe Ruth for all we were worth. The target? A big red barn at the end of the street. Regardless if there was light or not, you could hit those golf balls so far, you'd lose sight of them. A home run was hitting the side of the red barn at the end of the street, and it took a few seconds to know if you hit it or not. Man, did it ever make a noise; Bam..! We would laugh and laugh. You definitely got a good score for putting one into the side of the Huyser's house next door, but we weren't aiming for that; at least most of the time.