“New” neighbours.

Graham and I have lived here in this house together since about January 2005. I say “about” January 2005, because I still had my apartment in Toronto until May 2005, technically, but I was living here with him most of the time by then.

When I thought about moving into the suburbs, getting married, being a couple among other couples and families on a street, I hoped that there would be a certain amount of friendliness and connection between us and the neighbours. There wasn’t. Not at first, anyway.

Sure, the neighbours were usually civil enough. They’d wave as we passed by, or say a brief hello when we came out of the front of the house, if they were out there, too.

On one side was Mike and his family. Mike was a CN engineer, so he kept strange hours of work. His two boys were very rambunctious, often doing the very things they were told specifically not to do. There was a lot of yelling at that house. Mike’s wife, Carol, was rarely seen, and when we did see her she would be wearing weird outfits, looking more like she was headed to some buskerfest rather than walking her kids to school. Graham and I would joke that maybe Carol had that bizarre disease that meant she couldn’t go out into the sun. “Hey, there was a Carol sighting today,” we’d say. Mike and Carol moved away last fall, and a pleasant, quiet young couple have moved into their home.

There are three or four other families immediately surrounding us, and all but one have at least two kids in the home. The kids’ ages range from about 4 to 12. Within four homes I think there are about 9 kids! This is a starter home neighbourhood, and it would be really crowded to raise more than two kids in these homes. These people make it work, though. They’re good, hard-working people and I’m ashamed to admit that I have judged them rather harshly in the past.

I can’t exactly put my finger on why my attitude toward my neighbours has changed. It could simply be that my need to relate to the people I live among has become more important than my need for privacy. Maybe we’ve just been here long enough to feel like we belong, now. It could be that since I’ve become more open to becoming a parent, I am more tolerant of these folks and their different ways of raising kids. Who am I to judge?

Regardless, over the last month or so, it is like someone has flipped a switch. Rather than mere civility, our neighbours have actively sought to chat with us. Graham has noticed it, too. In fact, Graham probably deserves most of the credit, since he’s been much more chatty with the other men on the street than I have been with the women. Guys seem to find it so much easier to relate. After all, there are tools to be borrowed, heavy objects that need to be lifted, cars that need to be fixed. On the other hand, I’ve found at times it can be difficult to relate to other women who are mothers, because I don’t have that in common with them. Sure, we can talk about our gardens and homes, but it’s just somehow different with women than it is with men.

Now there are yard sales to help out with. Woody’s vodka coolers to share. Street parties to plan. Plants to swap. Gossip to hear. Motherhood stories to share. I’ve waited a long time for this.

In any case, we’re “in.” And it feels good. Community is good.

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