Another one of those anniversaries of my birthday is approaching. I’ve celebrated a few anniversaries of my 27th birthday, and even anniversaries of my 29th, but that may have to change.

Old house in Texas. I love photographing old, abandoned barns and houses.

I don’t feel (or generally act) my age and I prefer it that way. Life is what you make it, and I’m making mine young and fun as long as I can. In fact, after interviewing the centenarian a couple months ago and seeing the high percentage of centenarians in this area, I realize I may very well still be in my youthful “prime,” relatively speaking.

But then I find some jerk standing on my lawn.

I have a fenced yard. A clearly fenced yard. There is NO mistaking the fence. It has lights so it can be seen at night. Nevertheless, some fool with no boundaries or manners – a fool far more concerned with reaching “the greener grass” (aka: the better fishing hole) than displaying the mere basics of the social graces – like not standing in a stranger’s yard – walks around the fence and commences fishing while standing in my yard.

No “Would you mind if I, a complete stranger, stand in front of your home?” or even a simple “May I, ma’am?”

Even worse are the parents who camp next door and let their ill-mannered children run screaming through my yard, or their off-leash dogs loose to crap in it. Do they clean up after their kids or their dogs? Never once. Do they admonish their yard apes for the invasion of someone’s personal space? Not. at. all.

To end these invasions of my privacy, I will yell a friendly greeting, “Hi, how’s it going?!,” to the fishing stranger. This often prompts a guilty look, coupled with an apology and rapid retreat, because they know they crossed a fence to get there.

A few will then dare to ask if I mind them fishing there. I’m thinking: Umm, hell yes. That’s what the fence is for. But instead of uttering my thoughts, I politely say, “Yes, I like my privacy.”

The parents of ill-mannered children or dogs are far less apologetic, often leaving the “shooing” to me, all the while making a face as if their beloved yard-ape-of-choice should have the right to invade anyone’s space if they so please, screams, messes, dog crap and all.

I don’t come to their house and stand in their yard because I respect other people’s privacy.

I wonder what these tactless humanoids think the fence is for? Decoration? Perhaps they consider it a clothes line, or two. One on each side, with little lights.

Perhaps the fence would command greater respect if I piped banjo music outside, specifically “Dueling Banjos” from Deliverance.

Because of my growing preference for a stranger-, dog-, and kid-free lawn I concede I am no longer able to have anniversaries of my 27th, or even 29th birthdays.

I will now have anniversaries of my 30th birthday.