N is for Neighbors

We’ve got some great neighbors in Douglas Park. We exchange greetings with them over the fence, across the street, and on their porches as we’re strolling by. I enjoy the feeling of being surrounded by friendly folks who are all going through this quarantine together. Ours is the most diverse zip code in Arlington, and I would not have it any other way.

I grew up in a wonderful neighborhood, too. Park View is a mostly Mennonite enclave at the northwest edge of Harrisonburg, nestled against two hillsides on either side of a college and a retirement community, both operated by Mennonites. There’s a K-12 school there, now, that was only grades 8-12 when I attended. For years my whole world was that community. It was more insular than where I live now, but no less friendly or nurturing than my current neighborhood.

In recent months my home community has lost four members, all elderly parents of my childhood friends. It is sad to see these folks slip away. Folks whose homes I was in and out of frequently. Whose yards we trampled and camped out in under the stars. Extensions of our own families. Our village. It was a safe place where we could walk at night, and grow up gradually. Sometimes I still ache for those tender times, especially as we begin to lose the old guard, one by one.

My homogenous upbringing definitely presented drawbacks, then and even now, but it's possible to move out into the world at large, embrace all the good that is here, and still appreciate where I come from and the ties that bind me to my past.

Life lesson: Don’t ever forget where you come from.