Being a Good Neighbor

Being a Good Neighbor

Today started out partaking in an unusual activity.  I attended the virtual funeral for my former neighbor and friend, Gary C. Mullen.  My husband, James, someone who met Gary and the rest of my childhood neighbors only briefly during our wedding reception, sat behind me pretending he wasn't listening.  Then James turned around and we watched together.  As another former neighbor spoke and officiated, the idea that my husband and I grew up in a different time were very evident.  James even remarked, "I hope you know how lucky you were to grow up where and when you did."

So today, I ponder about being a good neighbor and what makes a good neighborhood.  Certainly, if you drove through the neighborhood where I grew up, you wouldn't be in awe of large homes and gorgeous lots.  Quite the opposite.  It was/is a low income neighborhood where a lot of families landed to start their journey, but stayed a lot longer than they thought they would.  And I think the reason they stayed was the neighbors.  We were often judged by the exteriors and there were some friends I had that weren't allowed to come to my home to play.  I was welcome at their homes, but their parents felt our neighborhood was a bad influence.  Judging a book by its cover is never a good idea.

There neighbors visited with each on a fairly regularly basis.  I still know the phone numbers of three closest neighbors by heart.  We helped each other with projects.  Gary was handy and would help anyone with home improvement stuff.  My mom was the seamstress and would help anyone who needed help hemming something, upholstering couches or chairs, or even making a wedding dress.  Dad took them fishing.  The ladies shared recipes and stories.  And when I got old enough, just like the kids that grew up before me, it was my turn to babysit.  We laughed and most importantly, spent our time with each other. 

The picture that sits a top this post is one that epitomizes being a good neighbor.  That is nine year old me in the striped shirt with my brother George behind me and our younger neighbor, Elena, decorating our elder neighbor, Miss Loretta's, Christmas tree in 1979.  Miss Loretta's husband had died earlier that year and she was in no mood for Christmas.  Our mom's grabbed us and we went to Miss Loretta's to get the tree decorated while mom and the other adults were in the kitchen enjoying refreshments and swapping stories.  That gesture meant the world to Miss Loretta.  She cried tears of joy.  I had never seen that before then and was truly too young to appreciate the special relationships that developed between us and our neighbors back then.

Digging through some pictures tonight of those days, I found some I thought also showed the strength of our neighborly bond.  Christmas Eve 1985.  I was fifteen and too young to drink.  So was my brother.  That didn't stop us from going up and down the street with our parents to visit the neighbors and eventually, landing in our home with the neighbors in tow.  It became the Christmas Even of legend that Little Gary (Gary, Jr.) had learned to make Long Island Iced Teas and got the adults bombed. 

Miss Loretta came by and visited with us, got her gift, but retired early.  She is in the upper left.  Phyllis (Gary's wife) and her son Little Gary, then my dad posing with Phyllis make up the rest of that top row.  Gary (who was memorialized today) posing with his wife Phyllis in front of our Christmas tree, my mom hugging Little Gary and Little Gary messing with my brother George are in the second row.   My mom was delighted to have Little Gary bartending, as you can see from the bottom row.  She definitely had a couple too many.

We were friends as much as we were neighbors.  It's not like that where I live now.  People come into their garages after a long day and rarely come back out.  I have made it my mission to know my neighbors and be friendly and help them whenever I can, but it's not like the days on Maple Street.  The world is different. Maybe it's the difference in convenience of cell phones, computers and Facebook.  Or that in the more affluent neighborhoods, neighbors don't need each other the way we did on Maple Street.  Who knows.  

All I do know is that I will continue to give of myself to those I know and those I live near.  I will celebrate with them the every day occasions of just being together.  Those are more important now than they ever have been.