Peeking and Entering
I’ve always been a curious person. The kind of kid who asks, “Why?” and actually wants an answer. As a First Grade teacher, I relished any excuse to dive into new topics and books. Back then, “best practice” was all about integrating subjects—reading, writing, math, science, and social studies—all stirred together like some delicious educational soup. If you were studying frogs, you didn’t just read about them. You became them. You wrote stories starring them, compared them to toads, and probably hopped around the playground for “research.” Curiosity was the air I breathed.
But I didn’t stumble into curiosity on my own. Nope. I had a live-in guide: my mom. She raised me to be curious… invasively curious. The kind of curious that makes you peek behind closed doors, both literally and metaphorically.
I grew up in a brand-new neighborhood—the first house on our side of the block. Beyond our backyard, there were fields, jeep trails, and a lake just a half-mile away. For a while, we had nature to explore. Then came the construction crews. One by one, houses sprang up around us. But they didn’t appear overnight. It took weeks (sometimes months) to go from a hole in the ground to a family with a golden retriever and a Weber grill on the back patio. And that’s where curious kids like me came in.
The minute the workers packed up for the day, my friends and I sprang into action. We’d climb into the unfinished homes and explore. We inspected the floor plans like miniature realtors. Each of us would claim a bedroom (always the biggest one, obviously). We never broke anything—that would’ve been rude. But we did notice the builders started installing windows and doors a lot sooner than usual. Presumably to keep us out. Cute. Like that was going to stop us.
Fortunately, the builders left plenty of scrap lumber lying around. I distinctly remember how easy it was to slide a 2×12 down through the basement window opening. One kid would shimmy down the plank like a little burglar, run upstairs, unlock the front door, and—voila!—we were in. Tour group assembled.
But my crowning achievement in home invasion (the innocent kind, I swear) came later. One evening, my Grandma Doris was visiting. We were standing in the backyard, and she casually wondered aloud what the new house behind us looked like inside.
“I can show you,” I said. Of course I could. I was practically the unofficial inspector of every house on the block.
So off we went—after dark, no less. We crept around to the windows and started peeking inside. We were just about to plot our way in when the patio door slid open. Plot twist: the neighbors had already moved in.
Rather than scream or call the cops (thank you, Midwest manners), they invited us inside for a full tour and even offered us dinner. Meanwhile, my mom back at home was trying to figure out whether to call the police or just ground me for life.
Curiosity may have been the reason I ended up trespassing as a kid, but it’s also the reason I loved teaching, learning, and connecting with people. These days, I keep my exploring to books, ideas, and the occasional open house (the kind with snacks). But some habits die hard. If you leave your door unlocked, I might still take a peek.
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