The BackRowBallers have designated Saturday guest blogger day! Today's guest blogger is Liberty, a native of New Hampshire, who sits in a different place everyday during class. However, one constant in her variable seating habits is that she always sits with Emily F., who has very stylish dressing habits.
Midwestern Neighbors
My first experience with the new Toledo neighbors occurred quite by chance. My family and I were still roaming around my new house, and we noticed a person on the porch next door surrounded by 5 large dogs! We meandered over to meet Roy, a petite man in his mid-fifties who had a shiny-bald head rimmed by white hair, delicate, round glasses, and a tank-top.
Move-in day finally arrived. My family and I frantically pulled furniture and random objects out of the moving truck. Roy officially introduced his wife Martha, who chatted about the neighborhood and the weather with us. The first thing I said to her was, “I love your flower garden!” She immediately offered to cut me fresh flowers! The friendliness was somewhat of a shock to this jaded New Englander.
One day after settling in, I looked onto the street one day and saw a large blue metal frame came into view. Roy was riding down the street on a retro blue Schwinn with a little wire-basket. He had a radio on his head with big earphones and an antennae extending aiming for the sky.
The neighbors on the other side were silent with perpetually closed window blinds. The first words I heard emanating from the “silent house” were, “Hey, if you leave that bike out, kids will steal it,” a teenage girl sat on the stoop. I introduced myself, forcing a smile, though the girl stared blankly back at me. The exchange was anything but neighborly.
Later on, a tall, scruffy, tattooed guy emerged from the house with a huge, unleashed dog. The dog meandered through my front lawn into my backyard, where he took a poop. The dog continued blissfully with his business of soiling my lawn. When I knocked on the neighbor’s door to “discuss” the little problem with their poopy dog, they never even answered the door.
Another day passed and I dreaded the necessary confrontation over the “dog problem” with the neighbors. I imagined what I wanted to say to them: “Keep your stupid dog off my yard. If he poops on it again I’m going to thwack him with my closest available shoe.” This was probably not the best way to make nice with the neighbors.
When the silent house neighbors finally emerged from hiding, I went out to introduce myself to the mother, who was following her daughter around the postage stamp lawn barking orders at how she should mow the lawn. I was “introduced” to Kane, the giant dog, who sat penned in a steel cage.
“Oh.… actually, there was dog poop in my yard the other day, and I was hoping you’d keep him leashed,” I meekly approached the subject.
“Oh, no. I keep him in my yard,” the mother responded……..
(To Be Continued)
Move-in day finally arrived. My family and I frantically pulled furniture and random objects out of the moving truck. Roy officially introduced his wife Martha, who chatted about the neighborhood and the weather with us. The first thing I said to her was, “I love your flower garden!” She immediately offered to cut me fresh flowers! The friendliness was somewhat of a shock to this jaded New Englander.
One day after settling in, I looked onto the street one day and saw a large blue metal frame came into view. Roy was riding down the street on a retro blue Schwinn with a little wire-basket. He had a radio on his head with big earphones and an antennae extending aiming for the sky.
The neighbors on the other side were silent with perpetually closed window blinds. The first words I heard emanating from the “silent house” were, “Hey, if you leave that bike out, kids will steal it,” a teenage girl sat on the stoop. I introduced myself, forcing a smile, though the girl stared blankly back at me. The exchange was anything but neighborly.
Later on, a tall, scruffy, tattooed guy emerged from the house with a huge, unleashed dog. The dog meandered through my front lawn into my backyard, where he took a poop. The dog continued blissfully with his business of soiling my lawn. When I knocked on the neighbor’s door to “discuss” the little problem with their poopy dog, they never even answered the door.
Another day passed and I dreaded the necessary confrontation over the “dog problem” with the neighbors. I imagined what I wanted to say to them: “Keep your stupid dog off my yard. If he poops on it again I’m going to thwack him with my closest available shoe.” This was probably not the best way to make nice with the neighbors.
When the silent house neighbors finally emerged from hiding, I went out to introduce myself to the mother, who was following her daughter around the postage stamp lawn barking orders at how she should mow the lawn. I was “introduced” to Kane, the giant dog, who sat penned in a steel cage.
“Oh.… actually, there was dog poop in my yard the other day, and I was hoping you’d keep him leashed,” I meekly approached the subject.
“Oh, no. I keep him in my yard,” the mother responded……..
(To Be Continued)
--By Liberty Elliot, who because of her devotion to this blog has found a special place in BackRowBallers' hearts.
