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David Spates Guess what happened I saw something the other day that I never
suspected I'd see. It was something that I had heard and read
about, but had never witnessed with my own eyes -- something
I thought had died out with butter churns, hall trees and personal
accountability. I saw people, lots of people, sitting on their
front porches. Like a scene from a Norman Rockwell painting,
folks in my neighborhood were lounging about, enjoying the peace
and serenity of a late-afternoon rainstorm. Now, granted, it
took a two-hour disruption in the local power grid to transplant
this happening from the first half of the 20th century into the
early days of the 21st century, but when one observes an occurrence
as rare as this, one doesn't quibble about origin. It left an impression on me, and it made me
wonder what it must have been like in the days when neighbors
knew each other. In my neighborhood, like most others, people
rarely take the time to meet with their neighbors. As far as
I know, I have very little in common with my neighbors -- apart
from similar mailing addresses. I could tell you the last names
of the families who live in the two adjoining lots, but you ask
me who's in the hunter green split-level four doors down and
I'm at a complete loss. For all I know, that house is empty. We just don't know one another. It's not their
fault. It's not my fault. It's no one's fault, but I suspect
that the reason is that people don't relax outdoors very much
these days. Can you blame us? At the end of a long day, who wants
to leave our air-conditioned living rooms and venture out into
the night's humidity? The great outdoors cannot compete with
loafing around in your underwear watching "Cops" reruns
or surfing the Web for input from people living more interesting
lives than yours. With so many ways to spend off hours, however
many you find yourself with after completing your obligations,
sitting on the front porch doesn't rate very highly on most folk's
lists. But it did the other day -- when presented
with the conundrum of an electricity-free home, sitting on the
front porch rated quite highly. And there we were, rubbing the
cathode rays from our eyes like children waking from a long night's
sleep. The power was off when I returned home, and I have no
doubt that if some people are at home when the juice is cut,
they sit, unmoving, on their couches staring at blank TV and
computer screens waiting for the electricity to come back. On
this evening, however, the storm was determined to pry people
from their recliners and onto their porches. Two hours without
electricity will cause even the most habitual channel-flipper
to stir. I saw people that evening I've never seen
in my life, and I've lived in my neighborhood for more than seven
years. Before that night, I couldn't have picked most of my neighbors
from a police lineup. I didn't talk to them all that night, but
we waved to each other a lot. It wasn't the kind of brain-dead
wave you give when you're driving, either. You know, where you
barely raise your hand from the steering wheel when you motor
past your neighbor as he's giving his lawn more of an edge than
George Carlin after a couple of whiskey sours. These were full-armed,
honest waves. Some of them even include smiles. Granted, it's
not the warmest way to greet someone, but for a group of us neighbors
who know each other's cars better than we know each other's faces,
that's pretty good. I guess what I'm saying is that it was nice
to be a part of something as honest and good-natured as sitting
on the porch and waving to your neighbor. It's never happened before, and it might never
happen again, but it happened once, and for a while we were all
sharing something more than just a cable service provider. I'm not one of those guys who enjoys leaning
on the fence and chatting with the neighbor about the best granular
herbicide to use to rid a yard of unsightly crabgrass. It's just
not me. Chitchat just isn't my thing, but I've known plenty of
people who seem to enjoy it. So I suppose it's no real surprise
that I don't engage and pursue third-tier relationships that
are based solely on conversations centering around the weather
and gossip du jour. That being said, I must admit it was nice
to be a part of a neighborhood, if even for a little while or
at least until the power company resurrected our TVs and modems. Back in the day, I'm sure a wave and a grin just wouldn't have been enough to keep neighbors entertained. No doubt they demanded more. Oh, what the "good ol' days" must have done to foster the art of thoughtful conversation. · · · |