Neighbors That Aren't Neighbors
This post has been on my mind for a while now but I am just now getting around to putting my thoughts into written words. It's sort of stating the obvious and that always makes me feel kind of stupid for having to say something that any normal person would "get," anyway.
I understand that the guy who lives in the house next door on the one side is a nutball so all his nutty antics over the years come as no surprise anymore and nothing he does really gets to me (with the exceptions of how he's endangered my Mother's life).
I'll do a whole Nightmare Neighbor Story on him at some point in the future. Some of his stuff that he's done is just incredible. So alarming, in fact, that the Sheriff's Dept. told me to get a restraining order on this guy.
But enough about him. I want to talk about "neighbors," plural, as in what is a neighbor and what is a neighborhood? And who are these people living in these houses that I see every day and why are they the way that they are?
The one family across the street would be psyched out to know they are living in a house with very bad juju. The original homeowners had a real tragedy -- the wife pulled a Mary Alice and blew her brains out in the living room. I don't even remember seeing police cars or ambulances, but it was the talk of the neighborhood at the time and that's how I found out about it.
If you are a parent who is reading this, I know if you are normal, it is your prayer that your children grow up to be decent human beings with a strong sense of morals - knowing right from wrong and so on. That is your job as a parent... to teach that person how to be a person and how to get along with the rest of the human race.
So the neighbors who live in the bad juju house have a son who looks to be about 12 or 13 years old and who likes to shoot hoops at the basketball hoop they set up on the curb in front of their house.
And what kind of human being are they raising up? Well, when I come home from the supermarket and I can barely stand and walk due to the degenerative arthritis in my spine and hips and knees and just about everywhere, I have a mighty struggle to bring my bags of groceries into the house.
That's not anyone else's problem. That's my problem to deal with and I have no expectation that the man sitting on the tailgate of his truck watching me struggle would ever get up off his ass and offer to help me. My gosh, that would mean acting in a neighborly fashion and we certainly couldn't have that, could we?
What I think is an even greater indicator of character emanating from the bad juju place is that 12 year old son who also sits on the tailgate next to Daddy and laughs as Daddy makes fun of the way I have to walk.
And one day, Son with several of his pals, came halfway across the street just to scream obscenities at me as I walked from my car to my front door. It wouldn't be the last example of such behavior. Sometimes, even in the presence of both parents who never tell their human-being-in-development that's the wrong thing to do.
The same goes for the unfeeling neighbor across the street who is best buddies with this neighbor. And his kids.
They are also friendly with the nutball neighbor next to me so I guess I know where the hostility comes from. These people don't know me but they teach their children it is acceptable to verbally abuse a disabled elderly person.
The gossip campagn even spoiled a friendy relationship I'd begun with the new neighbors who moved in next door on the other side of me. Their 13 year old son had been polite and friendly with me and I know it was his idea to invite me to his bar mitzvah party in their back yard.
He happened to walk to the front of my driveway to see my address numbers by my front door and yelled them out to his Mom who was on the other side of the hedges that divide our front yard. He saw me sitting on my little camp stool, smoking a cigarette and smiled. When he called out my address to his Mom, she yelled back, "I told you I'm not inviting her!" Mom didn't know I was sitting not more than ten feet or so away from her. The poor kid was embarrassed and hurried back to shush his Mom before she said more.
I do not know what happened there other than this lady joined the clique that began with my nutball neighbor.
The nutball neighbor who shot firecrackers directly at my Mother who was not able to run with her walker. The nutball neighbor who called the police to report that I had murdered my Mother. The nutball neighbor who called the fire department to say my house was on fire when no such thing was true. Oh yeah, Mr. Nutball is a fireman.
But my new friend has no more words for me, no more hello's, no more friendly relationship once the clique got ahold of her. She'd rather ally herself with the firecracker thrower.
These are the lessons these people are teaching their children. These people who live in houses that I see. I just don't happen to see any neighbors.
I understand that the guy who lives in the house next door on the one side is a nutball so all his nutty antics over the years come as no surprise anymore and nothing he does really gets to me (with the exceptions of how he's endangered my Mother's life).
I'll do a whole Nightmare Neighbor Story on him at some point in the future. Some of his stuff that he's done is just incredible. So alarming, in fact, that the Sheriff's Dept. told me to get a restraining order on this guy.
But enough about him. I want to talk about "neighbors," plural, as in what is a neighbor and what is a neighborhood? And who are these people living in these houses that I see every day and why are they the way that they are?
The one family across the street would be psyched out to know they are living in a house with very bad juju. The original homeowners had a real tragedy -- the wife pulled a Mary Alice and blew her brains out in the living room. I don't even remember seeing police cars or ambulances, but it was the talk of the neighborhood at the time and that's how I found out about it.
If you are a parent who is reading this, I know if you are normal, it is your prayer that your children grow up to be decent human beings with a strong sense of morals - knowing right from wrong and so on. That is your job as a parent... to teach that person how to be a person and how to get along with the rest of the human race.
So the neighbors who live in the bad juju house have a son who looks to be about 12 or 13 years old and who likes to shoot hoops at the basketball hoop they set up on the curb in front of their house.
And what kind of human being are they raising up? Well, when I come home from the supermarket and I can barely stand and walk due to the degenerative arthritis in my spine and hips and knees and just about everywhere, I have a mighty struggle to bring my bags of groceries into the house.
That's not anyone else's problem. That's my problem to deal with and I have no expectation that the man sitting on the tailgate of his truck watching me struggle would ever get up off his ass and offer to help me. My gosh, that would mean acting in a neighborly fashion and we certainly couldn't have that, could we?
What I think is an even greater indicator of character emanating from the bad juju place is that 12 year old son who also sits on the tailgate next to Daddy and laughs as Daddy makes fun of the way I have to walk.
And one day, Son with several of his pals, came halfway across the street just to scream obscenities at me as I walked from my car to my front door. It wouldn't be the last example of such behavior. Sometimes, even in the presence of both parents who never tell their human-being-in-development that's the wrong thing to do.
The same goes for the unfeeling neighbor across the street who is best buddies with this neighbor. And his kids.
They are also friendly with the nutball neighbor next to me so I guess I know where the hostility comes from. These people don't know me but they teach their children it is acceptable to verbally abuse a disabled elderly person.
The gossip campagn even spoiled a friendy relationship I'd begun with the new neighbors who moved in next door on the other side of me. Their 13 year old son had been polite and friendly with me and I know it was his idea to invite me to his bar mitzvah party in their back yard.
He happened to walk to the front of my driveway to see my address numbers by my front door and yelled them out to his Mom who was on the other side of the hedges that divide our front yard. He saw me sitting on my little camp stool, smoking a cigarette and smiled. When he called out my address to his Mom, she yelled back, "I told you I'm not inviting her!" Mom didn't know I was sitting not more than ten feet or so away from her. The poor kid was embarrassed and hurried back to shush his Mom before she said more.
I do not know what happened there other than this lady joined the clique that began with my nutball neighbor.
The nutball neighbor who shot firecrackers directly at my Mother who was not able to run with her walker. The nutball neighbor who called the police to report that I had murdered my Mother. The nutball neighbor who called the fire department to say my house was on fire when no such thing was true. Oh yeah, Mr. Nutball is a fireman.
But my new friend has no more words for me, no more hello's, no more friendly relationship once the clique got ahold of her. She'd rather ally herself with the firecracker thrower.
These are the lessons these people are teaching their children. These people who live in houses that I see. I just don't happen to see any neighbors.
posted by uhuru1701 at 8:33 PM
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