His back was slightly hunched, as if he used those muscles in ways most people don't. His neck seemed long as he stretched to look at you more closely, in an almost predatory way. His hair was unkempt and wild, coming to points above his ears. And, he seemed to always scowl, sitting on his front porch in the old neighborhood, as if guarding something.

The neighborhood was old. Gnarled oaks and mature maples lined the street. He lived at the end of the street, right at the top of the circle. The house was old, but well maintained. Even the paint looked fresh, though no one remembered it being painted. When not sitting on his porch, he prowled his property, always seeming gruff or grumpy. It seemed almost that he was searching for any interlopers that didn't belong.

To say that the kids in the neighborhood were afraid of him might be too strong. But, they were wary and didn't want to cross him. They didn't want his stare, or was it glare, to focus on them. So the kids were careful to always be respectful and never cross into his yard. Sometimes they did lose a ball or a frisbee. When that happened, the kids would come together and use rock-paper-scissors to select the one who would approach and politely ask "Mr. Gradon, may we come get our ball?" If they didn't see him, they just waited. No one wanted to have his wrath visited on them, even though no one could remember the last time he said anything in anger, or even just mean. He was always soft-spoken, though clearly heard. Still, it seemed best to not risk it. So the kids were always respectful.

Over the years families came and went, kids grew up and moved on. Mr. Gradon did not seem to change. He was always there. His house always the same and he always seemed to be guarding something.

New families, with younger children, moved into the neighborhood. Somehow the new kids just knew to be quiet and respectful around the circle. Still as with all children, they played and rode bicycles or skateboards. They even built jumps they could use in the circle away from traffic, with help from their parents. They played and had fun, feeling safer, somehow, with Mr. Gradon on guard. The kids were never too loud and they were always respectful of each other and Mr. Gradon. Strangely, they didn't talk about him with their parents, almost as if their parents didn't see him or realize his influence.

One day things started to change, some older kids, perhaps a gang, discovered the circle and the happy, respectful children at play. These older kids thought themselves much tougher, perhaps less innocent. And, they thought the neighborhood children were easy marks, easily intimidated and bullied. They decided they would take the circle as their own, their kingdom. They would rule, running rough-shod over everyone and every household. After all, they had the leather jackets, the boots, the knives, and the guns. They had no respect for others, no courtesy, even to each other.

But the new gang missed something and the neighborhood children didn’t share it. The gang couldn’t see Mr. Gradon, on guard.

At first the neighborhood children were polite and inviting. But as the gang's true colors began to show, as the gang began to intimidate the younger children and their parents, fear began to grow.

And then it happened.

It was early on a Saturday morning. Sean had been given a new skateboard for his birthday. He really wanted try it out. Looking out the door, his parents saw no one on the street. The gang never arrived till lunch time. So Sean was allowed to ride in the circle. His parents watched for a few minutes and then went back to cleaning the house. Sean, with a big smile, enjoyed his ride. Every time he rode by, he waved at Mr. Gradon.

Then the gang arrived. They were much earlier than usual. Quickly they had Sean boxed. He couldn’t get away. Sean turned this way and that, then stopped and held his board to his chest while the gang shouted, taunting him. One of the gang, known as Sal, with his leather jacked over a t-shirt and a ball cap on backwards, decided to do more than simply intimidate. Sal and his friends did not see Mr. Gradon intently watching them.

Sal reached for Sean, grabbing his shoulder, looked him in the eye and said, "Nice board, I think it's mine now."

With remarkable courage for one so young, Sean grabbed his board tighter and yelled, "No! It’s mine! I got it for my birthday!"

Sal hesitated but a moment before grabbing the board and starting to backhand Sean. He never connected. There was a roar and a rush of wind that knocked down everyone except Sean and Sal. Suddenly there was an enormous, scaly face with smoke escaping its mouth, eyes glowing, directly above Sal. If Sal had been able to look past those eyes, he would have seen massive shoulders and a pair of giant wings.

A low, rumbling voice seemed to come from the very air, "This street and these people are under my protection. You will leave them alone."

The face swooped down toward Sal with fire and smoke. No one could really see anything. The gang ran, leaving hats and jackets and bags as they fled, never to return. Sal was gone, though his cap remained.

Sean didn’t understand what happened. It was over in a moment. The street was clear of everyone, but Sean. He looked around, seeing all the clothes and bags, not sure what to do. Sean stooped to pick up his board.

Then he heard a soft voice say, "Its all right, they won't come back. Sorry it took me so long to help,"

Sean turned and saw Mr. Gradon walking out of his yard with a garbage bag, picking up the trash.

Sean asked, "Was that you?"

Mr. Gradon smiled, "Yes. But don't tell anyone. You see, I’m retired. Would you help pick up the trash?"

Sean's face lit up. "Sure. And I won't tell."

Together they cleaned up the street. Mr. Gradon went back to his front porch. And the kids began to play once more. It was as if the gang had never been and nothing had changed. Except, if you watched carefully, when Sean would wave, Mr. Gradon waved back.