He lives in a house formerly occupied by a family we knew as acquaintances, the sort of neighbors you talk with, and whose kids were just a little older than our own. They were pleasant folk, chatty and Catholic and easygoing.
But the kids grew up, and the mom got sick, and then he was there, apparently living in the house alone.
On the day the U-Haul deposited him and his stuff, we chatted for a bit. He's a late middle aged white man, short, wiry, with a closely trimmed white beard and mustache to match his short neatly trimmed hair. Now and again, he'd be in the yard, and we'd share a word about the weather, as neighbors do.
But something recently has changed.
As I approached his driveway with the pup on a recent snowy day, he was getting ready to reverse out of his driveway in his old Ford.
He rolled down his window. "Something something hurry up," he said, his words muffled from inside the car. His voice was incongruously harsh and raised. As our every prior conversation had been basically pleasant, I took it as a joke. I smiled and waved, and scampered forward to get out of his way.
Two days passed, and the next time I walked by his house, he charged out of his front door. "HEY! GET YOUR DOG OFF OF MY LAWN!" he shouted, voice fully raised and snarling. My dog wasn't relieving itself. Just walking next to me, sniffing occasionally. We hadn't stopped, and I was on the sidewalk.
I replied, no anger in my voice. "Sure thing!" I drew the pup in closer, and moved on. My dog didn't even notice. But it was, as being randomly yelled at generally is, somewhat disturbing.
Why the anger? There's a whole bunch of ambient, inchoate anger, in which he may have steeped himself. So many of us do, nowadays. It makes us angry at everything.
Or perhaps he has watched my dog relieve itself in his front yard, and even though I always clean up, that has been interpreted as a personal affront to his territory.
Or perhaps he is suddenly unemployed, as so many others are. Or perhaps social isolation has left him simmering too long in his own juices.
Or perhaps, as he lives right near the former home of a paranoid delusional French expatriate who recently passed away, there's a local tear in the spacetime continuum from whence an infernal and demoniacal plane pours malevolence into that part of the neighborhood. This seems the least likely answer.
Whatever the reason, there's been a category shift. He is no longer what I would describe as a "good neighbor." He is now solidly labeled as a "bad neighbor."
And I find myself wondering: what are the Christian responsibilities towards a bad neighbor? The one who does not show care or kindness. The paranoiac. The bully. The one with the raised voice who shimmers with indiscriminate rage, and controls his world by lashing out.
It's a timely question.
Particularly if you're Canadian.
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