Building FencesKeeping Me Out Or The Neighbors In?
by Wendel Potter
April 24, 2005
Is the word "neighbor" ever used as a verb anymore?
If you are as old as I, then you'll remember the days when a neighborhood was a community within itself. I grew up in the 1950's and 60's and also had the advantage of living in a small town. That in itself made a difference.
Back then, everyone within three square blocks knew who lived in which house and our parents were never afraid to send us kids out to Trick-or-Treat or to sell magazines. There was always an old crank or two in the neighborhood, but we knew where they lived and so we avoided them. Or soaped their windows after dark. Besides, they might have been what we called "mean", but they were always harmless.
I was having these thoughts because I was out in my back yard today, relaxing in my lawn chair and enjoying a beer and as I looked around, it occurred to me that, after living in the same house for 12 years, I don't really know my neighbors. That is, aside from the couples who live directly on either side of us. We are on friendly, conversational terms with both families although none of us have cultivated what you'd call a friendship.
In the old days, people "neighbored". You chatted over the back fence, brought each other a pan of warm rolls, shared tools, exchanged recipes, and occasionally welcomed each other in for a cup of coffee.
Today, I look around and I see homes with privacy fences. Erecting a privacy fence is the same as putting up a sign that says, "Stay out! We don't want to look at you or have you look at us. We hate you...especially your children!"
Sadly, we know only the full names of those two families beside us. We know the first name of a lady two doors down. She lent me her lawn edger a few summers ago. The damn thing broke. See if I trust her again.
I seem to find myself lamenting quite often that things just aren't what they used to be back in the "good old days". But people and their lifestyles are not what they used to be, either. Folks are stretched way too thin, living on schedules that are tighter than a pair of petite pants pulled over Kirstie Alley's hips.
And these people have the pop psyches to match. Stress, while it might kill them, has become fashionable.
Nobody can, or even really seems to want to slow down. Life has no other lane than the "fast lane".
But that's our fault. We have become victims of our own ridiculous culture.
That's why I long for the old days, when people took the time to enjoy each other, no matter on what trivial level it might have been. Back then, people were made for people.
Neighbor meant "friend". And "neighbor" was a pleasant verb.
This column is in no way meant to be construed as an invitation to come knocking on my door, though. I do not have a privacy fence. I am not unsociable, and I will happily welcome old friends and even begrudgingly allow relatives to cross my threshold.
But my home is not an open market for just any time-consuming chit-chatters. Nor is it a testing station for spot-remover salespeople or a place for my soul to be saved courtesy of evangelical bible-thumpers who are canvassing the neighborhood and bent on witnessing. Unless, of course, you want to witness a door slammed in your face.
I also have to warn you that I should be not your first pick if you are in search of a Good Samaritan. I like to think of myself more in terms of a Moderate Samaritan.
In other words, if you are in trouble and you make your way to my door, it's possible that I might help you. But it had better be in broad daylight and you had better be able to show some visible proof that you are in danger, i.e. your legs have been violently twisted at odd degrees of angle or you are bleeding from the eyes.
Note: if you are bleeding, then you will have to wait outside while I call 910 (or is it 912? 941?) Hell, I don't remember. Do you have to enter the area code first? Oh, well. I'll keep dialing for emergency service, but you still can't come inside. I have carpeting.
I'm not un-neighborly. I guess I've just wised up to the fact that these are not the good old days. Those days are not coming back.
So I guess I'll just sit in my lawn chair and have another beer. Just me, myself, and I. I figure that once all the neighbors have built their fences, there's no reason for me to put one up.
Copyright 2005 Wendel Potter
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