Summer of '69: My world revolved around playing right field for the Arcadia Raiders. I was not very good and I was small for my age. Fortune smiled on me, no one demanded that the coach sit me down, as this was the era before overly competitive parents took over children's sports ruining them for generations to come.
I digress.
This story has no connection to little league or my skills whatsoever. Its relevance lies only in that the following events occurred as I rode my bike home from practice.
My mother was divorced and our home was located on Mountain Avenue, which was a relatively quiet street. Imagine the surprise than in my ten-year-old mind when upon rounding the corner I found our house surrounded by Sheriff cars. One of our neighbors intercepted me explaining that my family was okay and that my mother would answer all of my questions. Meanwhile she sat me down with a plate of cookies and milk to pass the time.
A few hours had passed before my mother was able to come get me. She was visibly shaken but appeared to be injury free.
What had happened was not in anyway horrible, it was rather a bizarre set of circumstances.
A woman escaped from a mental hospital located somewhere in Southern California. After of wondering aimlessly through the she found her way to our rather humble neighborhood.
Seeing our little white house must have caused the wrong set of neurons to discharge or the wrong chemicals to be released because she in her insanity moved in. She prepared herself a meal. Well fed she stripped down and took a long bubble bath in my mother's tub. Than naked she climbed between the sheets on my mothers bed falling asleep, which was where my mother stumbled across her when she returned from work.
A regular Goldilocks she was.
The responding deputies were unable to reason with her. She cursed them from hell to high water out and swore to the gods that it was her house and that my mother was the trespasser. Negotiations actually took several hours before they were able to convince Goldilocks to leave peacefully with them and we were able to finally return to our home.
The consequences of the day’s events were small, large and far-reaching. My mom spent most of that night scrubbing down the house and bleaching the bed linen.
In a neighborhood where everyone felt safe enough to leave their houses unlocked suddenly new locks were installed and being used.
Finally, within a year of the incident we sold our house and moved to a new neighborhood.
Originally posted March 2004
