Neighbors

When Alan and I first married, and moved into married-student housing at Rutgers, I thought I knew what a neighbor was.



In Runnemede everyone was your neighbor. You looked out for each other. You talked with each other. You shared dinners with each other. You had picnics with each other. It was something that I thought was common throughout the United States.



At Rutgers, we had a neighborhood, and it was similar to what we had in Runnemede -- we would just drop in on our neighbors from time to time to play a game or invite them to dinner (always at the apartment, never out to eat, couldn't afford that).



Then, Alan went into the Army. Our first apartment was a sewer -- really it was. The sewer line kept backing up in our bathroom/bathtub/toilet/sink/ and floor. We didn't get to know the neighbors because I was working full-time and Alan was doing his Army reserve/work thing.



Then we went onto an Army base where neighborliness is forced, but officers' wives didn't dare fraternize with enlisted wives -- and those wives were my friends because those wives were in our church and Bible study. So the "neighborliness" had to be done in secret, sort of. But we still were neighbors and could depend on one another if we needed help or just wanted someone to have a cup of coffee with.



Then when Alan was dischared, we moved to Fanwood, NJ, and we had neighbors. That's it. We had neighbors. The family in the house next to us were prison-camp survivers of Hiter's war, and weren't very interested in being neighborly. I can imagine they were still leary of getting close to anyone for fear of being turned into the police for crimes they didn't commit. We had a nice lady who lived across the street from us, and her daughter baby-sat for me a few times, but I don't remember her name. Our neighborliness included a rare cup of coffee on a morning when I only had the two girls to watch.



After two years in Fanwood, we moved to Cincinnati. We moved into a home in a "neighborhood". We were in a neighborhood where most families lived well above our income level and so they didn't "fraternize" with us. The first couple of years we were in Cincinnati we made really good friends with two of our neighbors -- elderly widow ladies -- but they soon moved away and their "replacements", while welcomed to the neighborhood by me personally never seemed to want to be neighborly.



I don't really blame them. I worked full time. They worked full time. That left only Saturdays to "meet and greet" as our Sundays were taken up full-time with church activities.



I'm disappointed that I didn't make friends with my neighbors in Cincinnati, but it takes two to be neighbors, not one.



Then we moved to our final home -- it will be my last move until my children put me in a home for the elderly or incapacitated. Here we have once again come to know what being a neighbor is. We have neighbors who care for us and about us. It's sort of like "Cheers" where everyone knows your name ( and the names of your children and grandchildren). When my back went out, I was overwhelmed by neighbors who wanted to shop for me -- what a blessing that was. When Alan was hospitalized, I was overwhelmed with thoughtful neighbors who wanted to visit him, shop for me, feed me, etc.



It hasn't been one sided on their part, either. I have reciprocated on many occasions in the last seven years (yes, it will be that long in June) and have really enjoyed being a neighbor again.