Do you know your neighbors?
When I was growing up we did. My best friends growing up were the neighbor kids Marky and Alysha. To be honest I still remember their phone number because of all the times I would call it to hang out with them. They had a really big yard that we would play in and there was one part of their yard that had really steep “hill.” I say “hill,” but it was just a ledge that you could ride a bike up really fast to try and do a jump. I remember playing wiffle ball in the front yard and using the bush by their driveway as the plate/catcher. I also remember the time Marky and I got in trouble because we were throwing rocks at a guy on a bicycle. Kids are stupid.
I remember their mom, Dana, she would make the best Mac and Cheese. Sorry Mom, but there was something about it that made it really good. I also remember their dad, Mark, a nice guy. A stern guy, but fun loving. He loved his kids. I also remember the day he passed away. I was hurt because those were my friends and they were hurt. Those are my neighbors and I knew them.
When I moved to Texas, it was different. Everyone has fences. Privacy fences, fences you can look over, metal fences, wood fences, plastic-ish types of fences that I don’t even know what it’s made out of type fences. But there are fences everywhere.
At first I didn’t like the fences. Over time the fences got to me. If I ever bought a house I want big fences. The type of fence you can’t look over because I may want to go outside in my underwear type of fence. The leave me alone, don’t talk to me type of fence. My neighbor isn’t that important type of fence.
This isn’t a political statement about fences.
This is a heart statement about me.
In 4 months we’re moving. We’re not taking our fences. Hopefully where we end up, we break down some other people’s fences. Not literally. I’m going to have to unlearn living with a fence. And if we find a house that has a fence. Well, I’ll just have to take that fence down.
Sow Cincy 