War! The Invasion Of Mimosa Lane

We left the BatCave behind when I was about four-and-a-half (Don't forget how important those “and-a-halfs” were). We departed for a house on Mimosa Lane in the northwestern part of town. I thought it was so cool! Not the house – the fact that there was actually a mimosa tree at the end of the street, as you turned off of Mastin Lake Rd. The synchronicity, to a 4-year-old, was staggering. I thought it the most improbable occurrence in the world that a street named Mimosa would also have a mimosa tree on it. The mimosa tree was the most exotic sight imaginable to me. The seed pods looked like beans, and let us pretend that we were farmers. With serrated green leaves protecting ethereally wispy, pink flowers, the mimosa tree was a gift of beauty from another world; and it seemed a harbinger of peace in our new home.

It was not to be. The kid two doors down from us opposed both the idea and the fact of me landing in his neighborhood. In order to live in peace, I had to declare war and take my my new land from the hands of a rapacious enemy by force of arms. Since we weren't allowed to leave our respective yards, we had to conduct our warfare with long-range projectiles fired from our home bases. We deployed along the battle lines defined by the property of the intervening house and threw rocks at one another for two days. After unremitting warfare against a clearly inferior but inexplicably intransigent foe, I declared a truce. With a ceasefire agreed upon, we settled our differences and became good friends.

Later, when he smashed my head into a brick wall, I didn't even tell on him. It only cost me two stitches, and hardly seemed worth ruining a good friendship over.