We Need More Guys Like This
The task of downsizing the remainder of the Mount Everest sand pile in my driveway loomed this weekend, a week after a day of sweat, blisters, dehydration and strained muscles managed to reduce the mound to only half its original size.
We recently put our house on the market, with an eye on finding bigger digs, so the sand pile became a realty liability. It needed to go.
On Sunday, while staggering around the front yard and putting away the day's implements of dirt distribution and fence reconstruction, a fellow from somewhere in the neighborhood pulled up in his big ol' pickup truck and asked me where I got the sand.
I understand his plight, because all of my recent calls to the apparently busy sand-delivery dudes went unreturned, so I turned to my contractor for help. He's got all kinds of crazy connections.
I told the fellow in the truck my sand-acquisition story, and then I pointed out that he'd be doing me a favor if he came and got my sand for free.
His eyes lighted, and despite my exhausted state, I told him to back up his pickup, and I'd start shoveling immediately. However, he said he had to get somewhere, but he'd come back later that day.
He didn't, becoming the latest in a series of unkept words in this post-Hurricane Rita environment. I won't bother to go into all the others, but I've come to expect people to not do what they say they're going to do.
Nevertheless, two days ago, I came home from work to find the remainder of the pile cut in half. I had no idea who took it, because I offered free sand to every neighbor I saw over the weekend. Please take as much of this as you want. Please.
Some neighbors did come, with their shovels, wheelbarrows and even Red Flyer wagons, but it only put a dent in the mound.
Yesterday, I came home from work to find the pile not only gone but the driveway swept.
My wife told me the fellow in truck, a neighbor whose name I do not even know, had just left. He scooped up all the sand and, despite my wife telling him he didn't need to do it, took a broom and swept the driveway.
I remember when people in the neighborhood where I grew up - where my parents live to this day - did these kinds of things for each other. Small gestures were repaid and paid forward to other neighbors. We were neighborly, and all the adults and kids along the street were friends and hung out. Almost all of those old neighbors, with the exception of my parents, have since moved away.
Today, my parents still keep up with some of those old friends who left, but I don't think they even know anyone who lives around them. There isn't much interaction. People keep to themselves. Lots of young couples born with silver spoons, knives and forks in their mouths, people who haven't had to deal with the hardships my parents faced: The Great Depression, World War II, leisure suits, disco, punk rock and me, among other things.
The isolationist mindset isn't as profound in my neighborhood today, but it isn't like it was on my parents' street when I was a kid.
At least the broom-wielding, sand-removing fellow in the truck gives me hope that the old-school neighborly spirit remains alive.
If I can figure out where he lives, maybe I'll drop some of my homemade beer and chili on him one night.
We recently put our house on the market, with an eye on finding bigger digs, so the sand pile became a realty liability. It needed to go.
On Sunday, while staggering around the front yard and putting away the day's implements of dirt distribution and fence reconstruction, a fellow from somewhere in the neighborhood pulled up in his big ol' pickup truck and asked me where I got the sand.
I understand his plight, because all of my recent calls to the apparently busy sand-delivery dudes went unreturned, so I turned to my contractor for help. He's got all kinds of crazy connections.
I told the fellow in the truck my sand-acquisition story, and then I pointed out that he'd be doing me a favor if he came and got my sand for free.
His eyes lighted, and despite my exhausted state, I told him to back up his pickup, and I'd start shoveling immediately. However, he said he had to get somewhere, but he'd come back later that day.
He didn't, becoming the latest in a series of unkept words in this post-Hurricane Rita environment. I won't bother to go into all the others, but I've come to expect people to not do what they say they're going to do.
Nevertheless, two days ago, I came home from work to find the remainder of the pile cut in half. I had no idea who took it, because I offered free sand to every neighbor I saw over the weekend. Please take as much of this as you want. Please.
Some neighbors did come, with their shovels, wheelbarrows and even Red Flyer wagons, but it only put a dent in the mound.
Yesterday, I came home from work to find the pile not only gone but the driveway swept.
My wife told me the fellow in truck, a neighbor whose name I do not even know, had just left. He scooped up all the sand and, despite my wife telling him he didn't need to do it, took a broom and swept the driveway.
I remember when people in the neighborhood where I grew up - where my parents live to this day - did these kinds of things for each other. Small gestures were repaid and paid forward to other neighbors. We were neighborly, and all the adults and kids along the street were friends and hung out. Almost all of those old neighbors, with the exception of my parents, have since moved away.
Today, my parents still keep up with some of those old friends who left, but I don't think they even know anyone who lives around them. There isn't much interaction. People keep to themselves. Lots of young couples born with silver spoons, knives and forks in their mouths, people who haven't had to deal with the hardships my parents faced: The Great Depression, World War II, leisure suits, disco, punk rock and me, among other things.
The isolationist mindset isn't as profound in my neighborhood today, but it isn't like it was on my parents' street when I was a kid.
At least the broom-wielding, sand-removing fellow in the truck gives me hope that the old-school neighborly spirit remains alive.
If I can figure out where he lives, maybe I'll drop some of my homemade beer and chili on him one night.
posted by Brian Pearson at 4:49 PM
2 Comments:
Its off and on where I live.. Mainly because its ALL FAMILY..
For 5 years now, I've had the privilege of living in possibly the greatest neighborhood in Beaumont...
It's great beacause of the people. A modest middle-of-the-food-chain kind of neighborhood, but we're all kinda like family. Now down to roughly 4-5 households on the street, we were once as high as seven households who regularly get together for food, booze, Nascar or sometimes no reason at all. It's not uncommon at all for your dishes to be at someone else's house, while someone's push broom can be found in a different garage every night, or for your dog to have his own bowl at each house. We prepare meals and eat together sometimes several times a week- each one of us bringing our contribution. Last year, my sister got married in Rockport, TX and I showed up with three households of neighbors... We've supported each other through births, deaths, kid induced drama, moves, divorce and everything in between. We even occasionally fight like brothers and sisters, but always find common ground and make up. Of all the places in Beaumont we could have chosen to buy a home, I'm glad this home and "family" found us.
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