My quiet Saturday morning ended abruptly when my 12-year-old son, Billy, and one of his friends burst through the door.

"Hey Dad, announced Billy, "have you met the new neighbors?"

"No."

"Come on Dad, you have to meet them."

"Some other time; I'm busy."

"Dad, you have to meet them now."

From the urgency in Billy's voice, I assumed the neighbors were waiting outside. I set aside my project and went to the front of the house. No one was there.

"Where are they?" I asked.

"Well, Dad," he explained, "we haven't met them yet either, but our baseball is in their living room!"