“Um,” I reply. “Sure.”
He darts into the yard and through the thicket of trees that divides our properties.
“Don’t be a bother,” I call out, though I wonder if he even grasps the meaning. His younger sibling follows closely behind.
I send a text to Lisa. “The kids are coming over. If it gets too much, feel free to send them back.” She responds with two reassuring words: “No problem.” Yet, anxiety creeps in.
I genuinely appreciate my neighbors. Honestly, it feels as if some unseen force has blessed us with the gift of amiable neighbors. And the thought of jeopardizing that gift terrifies me.
Seven years ago, before my partner and I became parents, we built our home in a serene, wooded area of Pennsylvania. Living in a rural setting brings the advantage of space. While we do have neighbors, the houses are on one-acre lots, ensuring a sense of distance.
During the construction of our home, a delightful older couple set up their modular home next door. They were kind-hearted and generally maintained their privacy. Across the street lived another lovely family, though their children were considerably older than my own, who were just infants. Then, last December, both families moved away within the same week.
“Don’t worry,” people assured me. “Perhaps a family with young kids will move in.”
I thought, “What are the odds?”
“We’re all alone,” I told my partner, Mark. “I don’t like it.”
After a long winter where the snow lingered until April, I spotted a moving truck next door. I rushed outside, filled with excitement. A mover unloaded colorful toys into the backyard. Excited dogs roamed the lawn.
“They have kids!” I exclaimed. “And dogs!” But then apprehension set in. What if their dogs barked all night? What if they played loud music or let their lawn grow wild? Was it possible they’d be unpleasant? Maybe solitude was preferable. Perhaps neighbors were overrated.
I approached the property line and peeked through the trees. I waved and shouted, “Welcome!” I introduced myself to Mike and Sarah. They hailed from Ohio.
Fantastic! Midwesterners are known for their friendliness.
I promptly invited them to my son’s first birthday party. “It’ll be in our backyard. We’re serving Mexican cuisine and there will be a piñata.”
“Stop trying to sell them on it,” Mark interjected. “They’ll come over.”
“They could have relocated anywhere, yet they chose to move next door to us,” I pointed out. “Their kids are the same age as ours. We’re fortunate.”
I felt grateful. Not only did our children enjoy playing together, but Mike and Sarah were genuinely wonderful. Sarah, a former educator like me, and Mike, an avid grill master and football enthusiast, quickly became friends with us. They bonded over sports and craft beers. We began hosting Memorial Day barbecues and spontaneous Friday night dinners. Mark and Mike even cleared a path through the underbrush, allowing our kids to visit each other without needing to cross the street. My children couldn’t contain their excitement when they spotted their neighbors outside. I no longer had to wrestle the iPad from their hands, urging them to go outside. They eagerly scrambled to put on their shoes before breakfast was even served.
I followed them next door to chat with Sarah. The conversation flowed effortlessly. Hours slipped by. Mark returned from work to discuss paving our gravel driveways with Mike while sharing a beer. On a Tuesday! Friends were just a few steps away, eliminating the need to wait for the weekend.
Still, concerns linger; this isn’t 1985. I fret over issues my mom never considered. Are my children being bothersome? Is my youngest throwing a fit? Should I call the boys home? Should I check in on Sarah? I don’t want her to feel obligated to entertain me. I suggest she send the kids over to my yard for a break, but they’re having too much fun to leave, so I sit in my kitchen, penning this narrative. Guilt washes over me.
The boys soon return for their swimsuits, eager to frolic in the neighbor’s sprinkler. I hope they’re not being a nuisance. Did my mother ever worry that I was overstaying my welcome? Most of the time, she had no idea whose yard I was playing in until she called my name from the door. She often shooed me outside with strict instructions to stay gone for an hour. I would usually find a friend, turning a dull day into an afternoon filled with play. Those were carefree summer days, wandering without schedules, discovering joy and spontaneity.
However, in 2023, we navigate a more structured world. Playdates are meticulously organized, and children often venture outdoors under close supervision. In this rural area, reaching a friend’s house can take 20 minutes by car. I find myself constantly present with my kids, unlike my mother, who enjoyed a different parenting approach.
I know Sarah shares these concerns. She recently sent me a text apologizing because the boys returned home covered in dirt.
“Are you serious?” I replied. “My kids are muddy from playing in a sprinkler on a humid summer day.”
It truly doesn’t get better than this.
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Summary
This narrative captures the joys and concerns of parenting in a connected community where neighbors become friends. The author reflects on the differences in parenting styles between generations and the importance of fostering relationships with those living nearby, all while navigating the complexities of modern-day parenting.