Ever since I was a kid I've often wondered how other people live. As a passenger in my parent's car or even my own as I got older I would stare at the houses we'd drive by. Little houses, big houses, red houses, and even purple houses--they sat on the side of the road full of people and animals.
What did the owners do for a living? How did they wind up living where they did? Was the house left to them by a dying aunt? Did they purposely pay money to own the 600 square foot bungalow that looked more like a shed than a place someone would call home?
Are they happy? Are they like Mother Hubbard and have more kids than they knew what to do with? Or were they the grumpy couple who hated kids and chased them off their lawns?
I wanted to know who those people were--did they hug their kids or beat their parents? Were they honest souls or crooks who stab me without a second thought?
Were they teachers, bus drivers, chefs or businessmen? Were they allergic to strawberries or dance naked by the light of a full moon? Do they have a brother-in-law sleeping on the sofa kicked out by a pissed off wife?
In the briefest of moments as I drove past their homes I wondered these thoughts. I never really got my answers.
Did the wonder the same thing about me and mine?
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