Anything But Normal

I live in a small, wealthy neighborhood in the outskirts of Baltimore, Maryland in a town called Bel Air. My neighborhood backs up to the town’s private country club, which is home to a green and lush eighteen-hole golf course, tennis courts, swimming pools and clubhouses. The houses in my neighborhood are old and original, for the most part. This is because around fifty years ago, my neighborhood was one of the wealthiest and first neighborhoods in the town of Bel Air. Since it is older, my neighborhood lacks streetlights or sidewalks. Most of the houses are stone or Colonial style, and a few, like my house, are built entirely of cedar. Our neighborhood is anything but the usual, and so are my neighbors.
My family is the most normal family among a strip of around twenty houses, and we have infinite tales about the oddity of neighbors, But sometimes I laugh and think who are we kidding? My neighbors must think they are normal too.
Let me start with my former next-door neighbor- Ron. He lived alone in a small stone rancher to the left of my house. Ron never seemed lonely because he was always incorporating himself into some bizarre project that he had created in his mind. He would collect scraps from old cars, visit junkyards frequently, and was always buzzing about the leftover parts he managed to find. Ron clearly demonstrated that one person’s trash was another person’s treasure. Ron had a spacious basement in his house, and could be found there until the early morning hours-doing “things”. What he was doing in his basement, we never knew, but he seemed fine living as a night owl toying with his trash treasures. The two cellar doors that went down into the basement resembled doors to a tornado cellar. He would consistently leave open, the screen level doors and would work throughout the night, down deep below inside.
One night, my dad came home to find Ron in frenzy. Ron was screaming that someone had broken into his cellar through the screen doors and stolen a bunch of his expensive auto parts, his snow blower, his lawnmower, and a bunch of other equipment. While my mom called the police to report a theft, my dad stood by the front of the house in order to greet the police when they arrived. Ron, in all black sweats, ran through