I like my neighbors. I really do. Not everyone can say that about their neighbors, but mine are great. The way our houses sit, the doors we each use most frequently open to each other. Very few days go by that we do not see each other in passing either coming or going. In my case, I have even come close to hitting my neighbor with the car as he walks his dog in the morning if I happen to be in too much of a hurry. He smiles and waves and has learned to stop several yards back from the driveway [I have also learned to creep backwards much more slowly].
They are the kind of neighbors anyone would wish to have. The kind that throws your paper up near the steps sometimes or collects the kid's toys that get left by the street, they also look after the house when we’re gone to make sure it is safe. I imagine if they wake up in the night, they look out in the yard and survey the area for anything out of the ordinary [that’s what I do when I am up late or wake up unexpectedly]. My neighbors make conversation in the driveway and tell us about their grandkids. They tell me about things going on in their lives, trips they take to the lake, or visits to the doctor. In the summertime we usually get tomatoes from the plants they grow and while we are gone they feed our dog faithfully and let her run around with theirs for exercise [I haven’t asked, but I think they even got her another flea collar in our absence – that was kind and thoughtful].
As great as my neighbors are in all those things, what I like most about them is how kind they are to my children. My children are terrific, mind you, but even terrific children have their moments. My children have chased my neighbors' cats. They’ve ridden their bikes too close for comfort near the cars. They’ve run through the yard screaming many times. They have picked flowers that weren’t meant to be picked from the planting pots. I have found them standing in the bed of my neighbor’s truck without permission. They have left their bikes lying on the sidewalk in front of the house. They have knocked on the door just to ask random questions and have picked [too early] as many tomatoes as have been given to us. And, that dog that gets walked regularly, they have run him down across two yards and a field to try and pet him from time to time. My neighbors are very patient with their neighbor's kids, for that I am thankful.
The other day I came home for lunch to find my neighbor in our back yard with my kids – all my kids. She was hot and sweaty, they were dirty and excited, and they were all working together to plant a row of tomato plants in our yard. She had gone to the local nursery and bought several varieties of tomato plants and enlisted my kids to help dig, plant, and water these plants. My kids were so excited. They worked for hours [rather, she worked for hours] getting those plants situated for growth. She took the time to tell them about each plant and the process for planting. She let them dig in the holes, and fill the dirt in to secure the plants. She told them not to pick the fruit until it was ripe and left them with an afternoon full of fun and memories that we will all have of that day.
When I was their age, all I can remember about the lady that lived next door to me is that she was grumpy, mean, never smiled, didn’t want people taking short cuts through her yard and threatened to call juvenile court when we adventurously dug a hole under her fence from our backyard. The only time she came close to being nice was when her granddaughter came to visit [she and I were playmates on those days] and she would give me a Push-up orange sherbet with her granddaughter – I am convinced she really didn’t want me to have one, though.
As mentioned in my first paragraph, my current neighbors are great, and I am thankful that in a world that so easily dismisses children as being in the way and more of a nuisance, she took the time and patience to look after mine and help them learn something new… and, perhaps they won’t early harvest any more of her tomatoes in the future.
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