Won't You Be My Neighbor?
Halloween time always reminds me of my neighbors. They were a family of five humans (if you count the three sons), a dog, and a couple cats. From the time her first son was of Trick-or-Treating age, the mother stitched a new costume for each boy each Halloween. From pirates to gorillas, from Garfield to seafaring voyagers. Each year after her boys had paraded around in their costumes, they went into a big box in her garage.
We moved next door to them when I was pushing three, but Halloween only became a big deal to me around the age of five when I joined elementary school (an elementary school that celebrated Halloween in style). We had two Halloween events each year, a Halloween party and a Halloween parade. Mix in our annual family Halloween party and Trick-or-Treating itself and that's four occasions on which a costume was to be worn. And of course I (some things never change), refused to wear the same one twice. Halloween costumes aren't exactly luxury goods but my mom wasn't about to purchase four elaborate costumes only for me to wear them in the dark and for complete strangers to enjoy. I'm sure that I didn't take this so well back then, and I'm assuming I threw some sort of embarrassing tantrum in the middle of the driveway. This is when "next-door mom" came to the rescue (she wore a superwoman costume all year round).
She offered me whichever costumes I wanted from the infamous "costume box" in her garage. And thus it started. From then on, each year I (and my brother, soon after), would wait in anticipation for the "costume box" to come down off the shelf. Starting October 1, we would run over to our neighbor's house everyday. I wore three to four costumes a year for the entirety of my Trick-Or-Treating life, and never bought a single one. And, I, dare I say it, had the coolest costumes in the entire school (except for the neighbor kids...but those were my future costumes anyway).
Halloween is just the edge of the iceberg when it comes to my neighbors. With two boys older than myself and one who was my age, the mom always had plenty of advice for my mom, who had "two younger brats." I would walk to school with the one that was my age. The mom and dad would babysit me and my brother when my mom was in business school (the dad would get in more trouble than us kids). Whenever I would go over to their house to pick up a key or drop off food, I would end up spending an hour talking to the mom about anything and everything. The best part is that neither of us would realize the passing time. And the dad? Well he was just a hoot. The boy that is my age used to invite himself over to our house for dinner every other night. My mom told him that his spoon would start singing when he finished all the food on his plate. And he believed it.
Then we grew up. We went to different schools (the sacrifices I made for K-life!). We got busy with whatever it is that keeps older children busy. But we still came together for those landmark events -- graduation parties, anniversaries, "big" birthdays. We waved and smiled as we ran in and out of our houses. We still had those "not-so-quick" conversations, but they were fewer and farther between.
Our pets connected us, though. Their dog, Alpha, was my dog's best friend. Saying "Alpha" was like giving my dog a treat. She used to escape to their house all the time. In fact, we all did. A couple weeks ago, Alpha died.
Last weekend, a moving truck arrived at my neighbor's home. I was in disbelief. Kept telling myself that maybe one of the boys was home to take his "childhood stuff" to a new home. But when I finally accepted the reality, I began to wish I had talked to them more recently. Had one of those classic visits. But now, it's too late.
There was a certain comfort in knowing they were there. For some things in life, it's the mere presence that is powerful. I didn't talk to them everyday, but seeing the mom driving in and out or exchanging a quick "hello" is something I have grown to expect and love. I did appreciate it while it lasted. But now that it's gone, I appreciate it even more.
I don't have anything more to say on the matter, except that my new neighbors, whoever they are, have a lot to live up to.
We moved next door to them when I was pushing three, but Halloween only became a big deal to me around the age of five when I joined elementary school (an elementary school that celebrated Halloween in style). We had two Halloween events each year, a Halloween party and a Halloween parade. Mix in our annual family Halloween party and Trick-or-Treating itself and that's four occasions on which a costume was to be worn. And of course I (some things never change), refused to wear the same one twice. Halloween costumes aren't exactly luxury goods but my mom wasn't about to purchase four elaborate costumes only for me to wear them in the dark and for complete strangers to enjoy. I'm sure that I didn't take this so well back then, and I'm assuming I threw some sort of embarrassing tantrum in the middle of the driveway. This is when "next-door mom" came to the rescue (she wore a superwoman costume all year round).
She offered me whichever costumes I wanted from the infamous "costume box" in her garage. And thus it started. From then on, each year I (and my brother, soon after), would wait in anticipation for the "costume box" to come down off the shelf. Starting October 1, we would run over to our neighbor's house everyday. I wore three to four costumes a year for the entirety of my Trick-Or-Treating life, and never bought a single one. And, I, dare I say it, had the coolest costumes in the entire school (except for the neighbor kids...but those were my future costumes anyway).
Halloween is just the edge of the iceberg when it comes to my neighbors. With two boys older than myself and one who was my age, the mom always had plenty of advice for my mom, who had "two younger brats." I would walk to school with the one that was my age. The mom and dad would babysit me and my brother when my mom was in business school (the dad would get in more trouble than us kids). Whenever I would go over to their house to pick up a key or drop off food, I would end up spending an hour talking to the mom about anything and everything. The best part is that neither of us would realize the passing time. And the dad? Well he was just a hoot. The boy that is my age used to invite himself over to our house for dinner every other night. My mom told him that his spoon would start singing when he finished all the food on his plate. And he believed it.
Then we grew up. We went to different schools (the sacrifices I made for K-life!). We got busy with whatever it is that keeps older children busy. But we still came together for those landmark events -- graduation parties, anniversaries, "big" birthdays. We waved and smiled as we ran in and out of our houses. We still had those "not-so-quick" conversations, but they were fewer and farther between.
Our pets connected us, though. Their dog, Alpha, was my dog's best friend. Saying "Alpha" was like giving my dog a treat. She used to escape to their house all the time. In fact, we all did. A couple weeks ago, Alpha died.
Last weekend, a moving truck arrived at my neighbor's home. I was in disbelief. Kept telling myself that maybe one of the boys was home to take his "childhood stuff" to a new home. But when I finally accepted the reality, I began to wish I had talked to them more recently. Had one of those classic visits. But now, it's too late.
There was a certain comfort in knowing they were there. For some things in life, it's the mere presence that is powerful. I didn't talk to them everyday, but seeing the mom driving in and out or exchanging a quick "hello" is something I have grown to expect and love. I did appreciate it while it lasted. But now that it's gone, I appreciate it even more.
I don't have anything more to say on the matter, except that my new neighbors, whoever they are, have a lot to live up to.
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