I often find myself distressed as I sit in my room. Across the street is an elementary school, and, through my open window, I am reminded of my age.

I am reminded that I’ve started thinking in terms of “it wasn’t that way when I was growing up.”

These elementary kids have amazingly foul language. And they are cruel to each other, sounding as if some ridiculous movie dialogue is the script they are using.

Today, as I looked out my window, I saw what had to be a couple of third or fourth grade girls, calling each other “bitch” and talking with that particularly annoying shake of the head while saying things like “look here girlfriend” and a bunch of other meaningless garbage.

I had a Poochie sticker on my glasses when I was a third grader. I know — worlds apart in both time and geographical location and, frankly, neighborhood.

This is an interesting neighborhood.

I also hear the wolves and monkeys from the zoo not too terribly far away, howling and shrieking. It sounds better than these children, and that makes me incredibly sad.