Anchor ads are not supported on this page.

4S Ranch Allied Gardens Alpine Baja Balboa Park Bankers Hill Barrio Logan Bay Ho Bay Park Black Mountain Ranch Blossom Valley Bonita Bonsall Borrego Springs Boulevard Campo Cardiff-by-the-Sea Carlsbad Carmel Mountain Carmel Valley Chollas View Chula Vista City College City Heights Clairemont College Area Coronado CSU San Marcos Cuyamaca College Del Cerro Del Mar Descanso Downtown San Diego Eastlake East Village El Cajon Emerald Hills Encanto Encinitas Escondido Fallbrook Fletcher Hills Golden Hill Grant Hill Grantville Grossmont College Guatay Harbor Island Hillcrest Imperial Beach Imperial Valley Jacumba Jamacha-Lomita Jamul Julian Kearny Mesa Kensington La Jolla Lakeside La Mesa Lemon Grove Leucadia Liberty Station Lincoln Acres Lincoln Park Linda Vista Little Italy Logan Heights Mesa College Midway District MiraCosta College Miramar Miramar College Mira Mesa Mission Beach Mission Hills Mission Valley Mountain View Mount Hope Mount Laguna National City Nestor Normal Heights North Park Oak Park Ocean Beach Oceanside Old Town Otay Mesa Pacific Beach Pala Palomar College Palomar Mountain Paradise Hills Pauma Valley Pine Valley Point Loma Point Loma Nazarene Potrero Poway Rainbow Ramona Rancho Bernardo Rancho Penasquitos Rancho San Diego Rancho Santa Fe Rolando San Carlos San Marcos San Onofre Santa Ysabel Santee San Ysidro Scripps Ranch SDSU Serra Mesa Shelltown Shelter Island Sherman Heights Skyline Solana Beach Sorrento Valley Southcrest South Park Southwestern College Spring Valley Stockton Talmadge Temecula Tierrasanta Tijuana UCSD University City University Heights USD Valencia Park Valley Center Vista Warner Springs

No Drums Allowed in Fletcher Hills

I have lived on the same block, in the same city in the same state, and in the same house for my whole life. Fifteen years to be exact. It's hard growing up in Fletcher Hills, because although it seems like the area is crawling with kids and teens, it really isn't. The only people that live on my street are all above 50 years old.

Since I'm the only person under 30 on the block, I've never felt the urge to communicate with the neighbors. In fact, the neighbors feel the same way. The only interaction I have with them is when they come over and complain to my parents about something I did wrong.

That was until Ms. Smith moved out this summer. Ms. Smith's three daughters had moved her into a retirement home. The house went on sale the next week. Two weeks later it sold. Today was the day that the person who bought her house was supposed to be moving in. Rumors had been swirling around the neighborhood about who was moving in.

Some said it was a couple, others said it was a family. But I didn't buy any of that. It was definitely going to be another old person, as always.

A giant moving truck pulled up. I could tell this wasn't any ordinary neighbor when they started unloading the truck. All the furniture was very modern, and I could see a lot of posters for bands. Bands that I listened to. It was surprising in a good way. There was no sign of the person moving in.

I woke up the next morning to loud booms. The next thing I knew, my Mom was rushing into my room in her pajamas.

"Did you hear that?" she said. The question was kind of stupid, since the noise was still going on.

Sponsored
Sponsored

"Yes, Mom," I said."It sounds like gunshots," whispered Mom.

"Mom, I don't think what it's gunshots."

"Well, then what do you think it is?" Mom said sarcastically.

Listening, I decided it didn't sound like shots at all.

"Drums!"

"At this hour in the morning?" She was practically yelling. "Well, that's it." Marching out of my room, she said, "I'm going to go find out where it's coming from." I went with her.

The noise was coming from our new neighbor. My mom went right up to the front door and started banging as loudly as she possibly could. The noise stopped, and about a minute later the door opened. There stood a tall young man. He was probably in early 20s; he had medium-length dark black hair. He was in dark jeans and a T-shirt. He had big brown eyes and looked a bit surprised to see an older woman in her pajamas with a teenager standing at his front door.

My mom and him talked for quite a while, and it turned out he was from Chicago and had just finished art school.

His name was Frank Anderson. He'd moved out to San Diego to take care of his ill mother and just happened to find a job about a mile from here at an advertising firm. He was very nice.


One Sunday, when I got home from a sleepover at my friend's house, the whole street was filled with cars. The ground was practically shaking from the loud music that was pulsating from Frank's house. This wasn't good. I walked into my house and saw my mom and dad sitting in the living room, deep in discussion with all the neighbors that lived on our street. I could tell this was about Frank. All week, things had been happening that were upsetting the neighbors. They were mad about his drums, friends, and his friendliness towards them. They talked about the petition they were starting to get him kicked out of his house — the HOA where we lived had that kind of power.


I never knew that my neighbors could be this cruel. Even though Frank was loud, he hadn't done anything deliberately mean. In fact, he had been very nice to us all. Frank had even helped a bunch of the neighbors do their yard work and roll in their trash cans, without being asked. And this was what he got in return? When I pointed this out to the neighbors, they looked at me like I was crazy.


The next day was the annual summer block party. Everyone was out having a good old time except for Frank. I saw him sitting on the curb in the front of his house, lookinf downright awful with a piece of paper in his hands. I walked over to see what was wrong.

"Hey, Frank, what's up?"

"Oh, hey, Abby...nothing. Just, you know, looking through my mail." He waved the piece of paper. It was a notice from the HOA.

I didn't know what to say.

"I'm not that bad of a neighbor, am I?" he asked.

"No. I think you're a great neighbor," I said truthfully.

I could tell he wanted to leave, but he didn't. So we both just sat there in silence.


The next week, Frank moved out. He realized that no matter what he did, he wasn't going to be accepted. My mother said it was because all the people in the neighborhood were part of the baby-boom generation. Another term Mom used was "ageism." A term my mom felt I should learn, so that I didn't make the same mistake Frank and my parents had made when picking a neighborhood to live in. After I looked up "ageism," I realized it was just like racism: no different.

The latest copy of the Reader

Here's something you might be interested in.
Submit a free classified
or view all
Previous article

How to make a hit Christmas song

Feeling is key, but money helps too
Next Article

Reader writer fends off attacks on Encinitas cliff story

Says each letter writer takes on only part of the article

I have lived on the same block, in the same city in the same state, and in the same house for my whole life. Fifteen years to be exact. It's hard growing up in Fletcher Hills, because although it seems like the area is crawling with kids and teens, it really isn't. The only people that live on my street are all above 50 years old.

Since I'm the only person under 30 on the block, I've never felt the urge to communicate with the neighbors. In fact, the neighbors feel the same way. The only interaction I have with them is when they come over and complain to my parents about something I did wrong.

That was until Ms. Smith moved out this summer. Ms. Smith's three daughters had moved her into a retirement home. The house went on sale the next week. Two weeks later it sold. Today was the day that the person who bought her house was supposed to be moving in. Rumors had been swirling around the neighborhood about who was moving in.

Some said it was a couple, others said it was a family. But I didn't buy any of that. It was definitely going to be another old person, as always.

A giant moving truck pulled up. I could tell this wasn't any ordinary neighbor when they started unloading the truck. All the furniture was very modern, and I could see a lot of posters for bands. Bands that I listened to. It was surprising in a good way. There was no sign of the person moving in.

I woke up the next morning to loud booms. The next thing I knew, my Mom was rushing into my room in her pajamas.

"Did you hear that?" she said. The question was kind of stupid, since the noise was still going on.

Sponsored
Sponsored

"Yes, Mom," I said."It sounds like gunshots," whispered Mom.

"Mom, I don't think what it's gunshots."

"Well, then what do you think it is?" Mom said sarcastically.

Listening, I decided it didn't sound like shots at all.

"Drums!"

"At this hour in the morning?" She was practically yelling. "Well, that's it." Marching out of my room, she said, "I'm going to go find out where it's coming from." I went with her.

The noise was coming from our new neighbor. My mom went right up to the front door and started banging as loudly as she possibly could. The noise stopped, and about a minute later the door opened. There stood a tall young man. He was probably in early 20s; he had medium-length dark black hair. He was in dark jeans and a T-shirt. He had big brown eyes and looked a bit surprised to see an older woman in her pajamas with a teenager standing at his front door.

My mom and him talked for quite a while, and it turned out he was from Chicago and had just finished art school.

His name was Frank Anderson. He'd moved out to San Diego to take care of his ill mother and just happened to find a job about a mile from here at an advertising firm. He was very nice.


One Sunday, when I got home from a sleepover at my friend's house, the whole street was filled with cars. The ground was practically shaking from the loud music that was pulsating from Frank's house. This wasn't good. I walked into my house and saw my mom and dad sitting in the living room, deep in discussion with all the neighbors that lived on our street. I could tell this was about Frank. All week, things had been happening that were upsetting the neighbors. They were mad about his drums, friends, and his friendliness towards them. They talked about the petition they were starting to get him kicked out of his house — the HOA where we lived had that kind of power.


I never knew that my neighbors could be this cruel. Even though Frank was loud, he hadn't done anything deliberately mean. In fact, he had been very nice to us all. Frank had even helped a bunch of the neighbors do their yard work and roll in their trash cans, without being asked. And this was what he got in return? When I pointed this out to the neighbors, they looked at me like I was crazy.


The next day was the annual summer block party. Everyone was out having a good old time except for Frank. I saw him sitting on the curb in the front of his house, lookinf downright awful with a piece of paper in his hands. I walked over to see what was wrong.

"Hey, Frank, what's up?"

"Oh, hey, Abby...nothing. Just, you know, looking through my mail." He waved the piece of paper. It was a notice from the HOA.

I didn't know what to say.

"I'm not that bad of a neighbor, am I?" he asked.

"No. I think you're a great neighbor," I said truthfully.

I could tell he wanted to leave, but he didn't. So we both just sat there in silence.


The next week, Frank moved out. He realized that no matter what he did, he wasn't going to be accepted. My mother said it was because all the people in the neighborhood were part of the baby-boom generation. Another term Mom used was "ageism." A term my mom felt I should learn, so that I didn't make the same mistake Frank and my parents had made when picking a neighborhood to live in. After I looked up "ageism," I realized it was just like racism: no different.

Comments
Sponsored

The latest copy of the Reader

Here's something you might be interested in.
Submit a free classified
or view all
Previous article

How Much Time Do I Get With My BetterHelp Therapist?

Next Article

How to make a hit Christmas song

Feeling is key, but money helps too
Comments
Ask a Hipster — Advice you didn't know you needed Big Screen — Movie commentary Blurt — Music's inside track Booze News — San Diego spirits Classical Music — Immortal beauty Classifieds — Free and easy Cover Stories — Front-page features Drinks All Around — Bartenders' drink recipes Excerpts — Literary and spiritual excerpts Feast! — Food & drink reviews Feature Stories — Local news & stories Fishing Report — What’s getting hooked from ship and shore From the Archives — Spotlight on the past Golden Dreams — Talk of the town The Gonzo Report — Making the musical scene, or at least reporting from it Letters — Our inbox Movies@Home — Local movie buffs share favorites Movie Reviews — Our critics' picks and pans Musician Interviews — Up close with local artists Neighborhood News from Stringers — Hyperlocal news News Ticker — News & politics Obermeyer — San Diego politics illustrated Outdoors — Weekly changes in flora and fauna Overheard in San Diego — Eavesdropping illustrated Poetry — The old and the new Reader Travel — Travel section built by travelers Reading — The hunt for intellectuals Roam-O-Rama — SoCal's best hiking/biking trails San Diego Beer — Inside San Diego suds SD on the QT — Almost factual news Sheep and Goats — Places of worship Special Issues — The best of Street Style — San Diego streets have style Surf Diego — Real stories from those braving the waves Theater — On stage in San Diego this week Tin Fork — Silver spoon alternative Under the Radar — Matt Potter's undercover work Unforgettable — Long-ago San Diego Unreal Estate — San Diego's priciest pads Your Week — Daily event picks
4S Ranch Allied Gardens Alpine Baja Balboa Park Bankers Hill Barrio Logan Bay Ho Bay Park Black Mountain Ranch Blossom Valley Bonita Bonsall Borrego Springs Boulevard Campo Cardiff-by-the-Sea Carlsbad Carmel Mountain Carmel Valley Chollas View Chula Vista City College City Heights Clairemont College Area Coronado CSU San Marcos Cuyamaca College Del Cerro Del Mar Descanso Downtown San Diego Eastlake East Village El Cajon Emerald Hills Encanto Encinitas Escondido Fallbrook Fletcher Hills Golden Hill Grant Hill Grantville Grossmont College Guatay Harbor Island Hillcrest Imperial Beach Imperial Valley Jacumba Jamacha-Lomita Jamul Julian Kearny Mesa Kensington La Jolla Lakeside La Mesa Lemon Grove Leucadia Liberty Station Lincoln Acres Lincoln Park Linda Vista Little Italy Logan Heights Mesa College Midway District MiraCosta College Miramar Miramar College Mira Mesa Mission Beach Mission Hills Mission Valley Mountain View Mount Hope Mount Laguna National City Nestor Normal Heights North Park Oak Park Ocean Beach Oceanside Old Town Otay Mesa Pacific Beach Pala Palomar College Palomar Mountain Paradise Hills Pauma Valley Pine Valley Point Loma Point Loma Nazarene Potrero Poway Rainbow Ramona Rancho Bernardo Rancho Penasquitos Rancho San Diego Rancho Santa Fe Rolando San Carlos San Marcos San Onofre Santa Ysabel Santee San Ysidro Scripps Ranch SDSU Serra Mesa Shelltown Shelter Island Sherman Heights Skyline Solana Beach Sorrento Valley Southcrest South Park Southwestern College Spring Valley Stockton Talmadge Temecula Tierrasanta Tijuana UCSD University City University Heights USD Valencia Park Valley Center Vista Warner Springs
Close

Anchor ads are not supported on this page.

This Week’s Reader This Week’s Reader