My Neighbors

My family lives in a small neighborhood that had, until a few months ago, exactly zero children under the age of fifteen. Though my daughter has some little buddies scattered across town, and though it's not inconvenient to schedule play dates with them, my wife and I had always fantasized about having other toddlers in the neighborhood. Sometime this summer, the house next to ours -- which had been on the market for nearly a year -- finally found a buyer. To our great delight, we learned that our new neighbors has two small children: a five-year-old girl and a two-year-old boy. The parents appeared to be in their early- to mid-thirties, and so we instantly began talking about all the great things that would transpire when our families became close friends.

Strangely, however, we never found the right opportunity to introduce ourselves. We'd occasionally see the family leaving or returning home, but they never lingered outside long enough for us to wander over. We could have, I suppose, simply knocked on the door and introduced ourselves, but we figured there were less intrusive ways to meet the neighbors. Yet it never happened.

Finally, after nearly a month of aimless waiting, I decided to force the issue. One evening, while A. and I were taking a short walk, our mysterious neighbors returned home. All four of them were there, and so my daughter and I casually ambled over and stood their in the driveway, about 25 feet behind the car, waiting for our new best friends to emerge.

Nothing happened. They just sat there. I didn't see any of the usual toddler-related fumbling with bags and toys and sippy cups and so on. Everyone just remained, nearly motionless, in their seats. Thirty seconds passed.

"Daddy, what are they doing?" A. wondered.

"I have no idea," I told her. "They're getting ready to get out." Except they weren't. Another minute or so passed. I began fidgeting nervously, still holding A.'s hand and answering her occasional queries with further declarations of certainty that this family of four was, in fact, going to get out of the car and meet us.

It didn't happen. They remained inside the car, offering no signs of imminent departure. At last, I casually -- or so I imagined -- began walking slowly back down their driveway, trying to mimic the sort of stroll I'd be doing if I'd just stopped to stare at a weird rock or stick for a couple of minutes. Since A. didn't know what the hell was happening, she continued to ask things like, "Where are the kids?", "Where are we going?", and "Are the neighbors treating us like lepers for any specific reason, or do you think they all share the same basic personality disorder?"

Weirded out and more than a little bit humiliated, I guided my daughter back to the house. At some point thereafter, the family must have disembarked from the car and scuttled inside.

Is it possible to have a family feud with a family you've never met?

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My Neighbors

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