Baseball Bats

One night, about 3.00am, at one of the parties, there was about 50 - 100 kids at the house.  A fight broke out.  Some more guys arrived armed with baseball bats.  There was a huge confrontation on the road outside our house.  We called the police. The police told us that they had four other neighbours call about the fight as well.  Two police cars arrived.  The guys bolted in all directions. 

The police stopped and talked to the son.  They asked him what all the glass was on the road.  He said he didn't know.  They asked him what the fight was about.  He said he didn't know.  They asked him who was involved in the fight.  He said he didn't know.  So, the police left. 

About 10 minutes later, the guys arrived back again and the fight was on again.  We again rang the police.  The police again arrived.  The guys bolted again.  The police left. 

We again spoke to the father when he arrived home from the weekend away.  He shrugged and asked his son was so and so here.  The son replied yes.  That was it.  Apparently that meant something.  It certainly didn't solve the problem though.  The next weekend, the parents went away again and it was on again. 

This continued for months.  Every weekend, the parents would go away.  Every weekend, from Friday night until Sunday afternoon, the kids took over the street.  The other neighbours in the street, would lock their doors, shut the windows or go away themselves. 

One neighbour spoke to me about the problem. She told me her husband had banned her from calling the police anymore.  She said she was sorry she had moved here.  She also asked me how on earth do we manage to live here?  Which, was a very good question.  But, I had no answers.  We had gotten to the stage by now, that we hated the weekends.  We hated leaving work Friday night and knowing what was ahead for the weekend.  Everyone else at work would have great plans.  Some would have friends over for a BBQ.  Others planned a quiet weekend at home.  We just dreaded it.