Our kid has interesting friends - how unsurprising

I've noticed a pattern, an interesting pattern, a pattern that possibly indicates something. I like patterns, always have. Once again I have driven somewhere to pick up one of our fascinating offspring who's been spending time with a good school-friend, and I look at the home of our child's equally fascinating friend, and I observe that this is quite possibly the scariest-looking place in a street of old houses that are bursting with "character".

It looks like it should be haunted. If I were a movie director I'd use this place as a set for the home of the weirdo recluse neighbour character that all the kids in the neighbourhood are afraid of. This house has an attic, some weird little rooms up top. Bats in there? That's probably why the window is left open, so the bats can come and go. There are ageing materials lying all about the place that appear to have been collected for renovations, but sadly the process of the house falling apart has won the race against a procrastinating handyman. I'd feel defeated too, looking at this vision of chaos and decay. It's kind of interesting to look at, with the garden of ancient trees casting a dappled light, long-abandoned children's play things and lots of scenes here that might catch the eye of an artsy photographer. Everything here looks old and f***ed; faded, dusty and sad. It's as though they have intentionally gone for the "faded and f***ed look". Once again I fought the impulse to laugh or make a rude comment about my child's friend's parents' home, a thing I've had to do a few times before.

I remember the time, years ago now, when I went to collect our child after an after-school afternoon spent at the home of a friend from primary school. The kids had walked there straight from school together. I went to the address that I was given to pick up child. Surely not! This must be the wrong house number. But I guess I'll have to knock on this door. I'm afraid. I have no choice. My child has spent the afternoon at this place? I've driven past here and wondered what kind of people must live here. What kind of people sit in a house and raise a family in a house that is surrounded by nothing but sand and weeds? Quite nice people actually. Husband will not be happy when he finds out where child has been.

Years later, child arranges to travel to the home of a new best friend after school, with friend, to spend time socializing with friend, as normal-enough kids do. I call child on mobile phone. What street did you say? What? Do you have the suburb right? What? I'll try to remain calm, there are indeed a handful of nice-enough-looking homes on that street, it isn't entirely inner-city slums. I go to the house of that number, and I become very worried. I thought it was only prostitutes and drug dealers who live in these places. Parents seem dodgy. Oh my God! They have a child? Our child stayed here? Oh my God! We have gotten over this. We have worked through it. We have become more tolerant people, but our nerves are now shot to shit.

I guess we shouldn't be so judgemental, after all our home in no way resembles home beautiful, but at least we have made some attempt to make this place look somewhat respectable from the street. It appears that our child likes to hang out with friends who have parents who have given up on keeping up appearances of nice normality, or never had much chance to fit the image of suburban respectability. Maybe they aren't so different to us. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised at all.