The last house on the Left

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As a son of a military man, I lived in to many different places.  Just about every three years Dad was transferred to a new assignment and always brought his family with him.  Places, some strange, some not, but all were new to me.

But everywhere we went there seemed to be that "Last house on the left."  The one where the residents were just different.  Not bad, but just different in a way that made them stand out from the others in our neighborhood.  Sice then, I have lived my adult life in even more neighborhoods.

And you know, they were different in ways that stood out to me.  Perhaps it was because the male children in that house preferred to play with dolls.  Or maybe they preferred to play a musical instrument, read Doctor Seuss, or paint rather than throw snowballs at the passing cars or start a game of stick ball.

And their Moms and Dads (seemed everyone had one of each back then) preferred wine over beer and Classical music over Country & Western.  They were always the first to plant colored rock instead of grass in their yards, drive the latest imported car, usually some version of Volkswagen.  They wore bow ties and suits with fake patches on the elbows, and wore T-shirts while swimming.  Most were covered in zink oxcide during the summer months.

But as time passed, the houses on the left seemed to spread along our block.  What they had was contagious and soon all the houses became just like that last one.  And now most of the houses in my neighborhood are all on the left.  And I know that soon they will outnumber those on the right.

And America will become Greece or France where only the rich work to feed those on the Left.