Block Party

I have to be honest. We're not the best neighbors. Ever since we moved here, I've been looking for reasons why, but can never come up with anything concrete. Here are some of the excuses/reasons I've conjured up in my head: Our house is situated on a street with a stoplight at the end, so it gets pretty busy with traffic. The people on our street don't really hang out in front of their houses other than cutting the lawn, or getting into their cars parked on the street. Our street is a wider street than most, so it puts us at a visually and psychologically separate place from our neighbors. We're all too busy. And the list could go on and on just to make me feel better.

Growing up in Chicago, I never had these problems. We knew all of our neighbors well. Granted, we were kids, so we were constantly in and out of people's yards and houses. We followed Mrs. Lichtenstein through her crowded, cluttered living room, past her crowded, cluttered dining room, and into the even more crowded and cluttered kitchen. It was there where we would get the cup of sugar or flour we needed to make our cookies. We knew about the triumphs and troubles of other neighbors on our street, and on the other three or four streets surrounding ours. At the annual block party, everyone mingled without caution, and every parent disciplined every child regardless if that child was his or hers. We had bouncy houses, a bike parade, three-legged races and other picnics games, and food galore. It was a great time to be a kid.

But now, when we're invited to the block party in our neighborhood, Stein and I take the invitation cautiously. We know we haven't been good neighbors, and we really don't know anything about any of them. We sometimes feel like we get the invitation out of pity. "Well, we need to put an invitation in the mailbox of that grey house. What are their names again?" I imagine the organizers discussing. Last year this was most obvious when one of the organizers came to our door a few hours before the party and apologized for forgetting to invite our whole block. Stein took it personally and told the woman that we already had plans. We then went out to dinner to pretend we had somewhere to go and to wallow in our guilt.

We have attended two of the Christmas parties. The neighborhood does a progressive-type party, where each course it at a different house. We have never made it to the first two houses, but always seem to make it to the third for dessert. It's at this time when most people have imbibed a bit too much and are feeling very sociable. It's very easy to talk to people, but you can't expect that they'll remember you the next time.

Which was the case this year at the block party. Stein and I arrived on Friday evening with trepidation, thinking that people would have an attitude because of our lack of participation in all things neighbor. Most of the people whom we had met at previous parties asked questions like, "And what house do you live in?" or "And how long have you lived there?" When we would answer the questions with, "The grey house," or "Four years," most of the people had shocked looks on their faces. Yes, we are the hermits, I kept thinking.

The party ended up being pretty fun. There have been some new neighbors who have moved into the neighborhood the past year, so it was nice to have some fresh people to talk to, who didn't know our back story of slacking. We even volunteered our house to be part of the progressive Christmas party this year. Man, were we getting neighborly.

Until the police showed up.

No joke, a police car pulled up and out came a police officer. People who were holding adult beverages promptly poured them out on the grass. I felt like I was at a college party being busted. He asked us if we had a permit to have alcohol in the park. When we replied no, he said that we needed to get rid of the alcohol. This definitely put a damper on the party and it immediately set people in motion to clean up. We quickly said goodbye to our neighbor friends, said we would be in touch before the Christmas party, wished people good luck with parking cars for the game the next day, and went home. We were on the couch watching TV by 8:00.

At least they know our names. Again. For now.