The Neighborhood

The beginning

When my grandmother decided to purchase a home, she did not know much about the process or how she was going to afford it. She did not have much money, but she was tired of renting. She wanted to own a home where her family could gather and enjoy one another. A place that belonged to her.

The realtor my grandmother was working with took her to house, after house. Houses that he felt suited what she was looking for. My grandmother was becoming tired of the process, she was no closer to owning a home than when she first began. One evening the realtor took her to a house, and when they exited that car, he locked the door. This struck her as strange, as they had viewed many houses together and he had not locked his car in any other instance. After touring the home, she assured the realtor that she would not be moving into a neighborhood that he didn’t feel was safe enough for his car. He silently agreed and did not take her back to that area.

A few houses later my grandmother found her new home. She decided on a home on the south side in a small suburban town. With some help from her village, she was able to purchase her forever home. Generations of children have been raised in that home, multitudes fed, and she did it all with God.

Moving in with my grandmother

A few years after our mom passed, my sisters and I moved in with my grandmother full-time.  Prior to our permanent move into my grandmother’s home, it had not occurred to me that there were no other people on the block that looked like me or my family. It was not abnormal for my sisters and I to be the only black people in a room. When I grew up if you were in honors classes, or enrichment classes, there were few if any black students involved. It was no different when you lived on the “good” side of town.

Like any place, there were some who found disdain for us, people they did not know; and others that cared for us fervently. Like the woman that lived around the block, who helped me walk home after spraining my ankle riding my bike. She worked with my grandmother at the hospital and was always watching out for us. And the teenage girl across the street, who would come and lay blankets out on our front lawn, so that we could watch the moon and stars. Lynn, who still mows the lawn, shovels the snow, brings food, and does whatever she can to help my grandmother, we see you.  Ben, who remained constant, and just made us feel seen. He introduced us to his dogs and engaged in conversation. And all the children who played with us until the sun went down.

Direct

We had a lot of birthday parties and cookouts in the backyard of our house.  We played music at times, talked, laughed, and played games. An older lady that lived three doors down behind us would call the cops almost every time we had a celebration. She complained about the noise. The police reminded this woman several times that we were on our property and well within our rights. This only made her more angry. One day my cousin came by our house with his hair, in some ugly box braids, that he could not get to lay down. The lady behind us noticed and shouted, “Ni**er Monkey”. She had so much hate for children she didn’t even know. And I was afraid, I did not even want to walk past her house.  She was a constant annoyance until she moved.

Passive: softened by time

Directly behind us lived an older couple. They stayed to themselves mostly. The husband was very antisocial and would holler at us if any kick balls, soccer balls or anything made it to his yard. Our grandmother urged us to just steer clear of the old man and not to worry about him.  As they grew older, the wife struggled with dementia. She often would leave her home and wander around. Frequently ending up at our house. We would engage her in conversation for as long as we could, knowing her husband would soon come looking for her. We were familiar to her. She had not interacted with us much while she was well. Yet her comings while she was sick led me to believe she felt safe with us. Her husband would come and scoot her away, with little to no words. Just a thankful nod.  The old man was grateful for the kindness of familiar strangers. After his wife went into a nursing home, his health began to decline. He did not live long after her death.

Rude but Cowardly

And then there is the dark-haired woman, a close neighbor, with the cameras pointed at the right side of our property. She moved into the neighborhood while I was in middle school. She derived a story that fit her narrative about who she thought we were. After her cameras went up, my grandmother had a privacy fence built. Unresponsive to hellos, she was able to ignore our existence. As you can guess it did not take long for all formalities to be dropped. It was clear that she did not care for her new neighbors. Oh, but she kept a close watch. An old lady and her 4 grandchildren must have given her pause. We soon found out that she was a child psychologist for a hospital. A hospital in a city that serves many people that resemble my family and me.