07.04.08 Behind The Mask
I liked not liking Darth Vader. The way he wheezed. The way he picked up subordinates by the throat with his mind powers. The way he surrounded himself with British actors and dim lighting.
Then George Lucas had him take off his mask. There, under the shroud of evil, was an old man, a father struggling to breathe, asking his son for forgiveness.
The first step to creating a holy war is to completely vilify the enemy, rid him of all humanity and rid yourself of all empathy. Take away his back story, his humanity, his perspective and rationale, his circumstance. Mask him in every evil deed he’s done, every hateful word he’s spoken, every wrong perpetrated against you and don’t - don’t ever - take that mask off. Wrap yourself in the warm black-and-white blankets of hatred and war and sleep well knowing you’re just and the other guy is everything but.
A couple weeks ago our neighbors sat drinking beers and smoking in their front yard with a couple friends of theirs. A black sports car sat in their driveway, windows down, CD player pumping hip-hop and rap songs into the cul-de-sac. Five feet away my kids sat in a blown-up swimming pool. Penelope danced and Gresham drummed on the water’s surface.
Then the lyrics took a turn for the worse - a boasting rapper detailed what he could do to pleasure a woman all night long and what he could do to any man who crossed him. What plot ties the two resumes together I’m not sure.
I was out of town. Becky crossed the yard and asked our neighbors if they could change the song or turn it down a little since there were so many little ears listening. You must know something at this point: One of Becky’s faults is her inability to appear angry. In an argument, when truly peeved, she’ll smile or laugh out of nervousness or cry out of frustration. Becky was smiling when she made her request. The woman next door was not.
The woman stood from her folding chair, beer and cigarette in hand, and began cursing at Becky, colorfully telling her she should take her kids and her pool somewhere else. “OK,” Becky said, shocked and humiliated, and she and the kids drained the pool, drug it to the back yard and filled it up with water again. Becky entered her crying out of frustration phase, doing her best not to let the kids see a tear.
Since we moved in a couple years ago, our next door neighbors have never spoken more than a few words to us. We’ve baked them things, taken their kids on outings to the mall or the fair or to church. I’ve played ball with their son more afternoons than I can count. We bought them groceries once when they lost their jobs. And these, Becky thought, were the first words they spoke to us? She was hurt. She felt unappreciated, like all the good she’d done went unnoticed.
Another neighbor eventually got involved that day. There was more yelling. The police were called. Twice. It was ugly. Becky abandoned the pool before all that, took the kids inside and stayed out of the fray.
That night she called me. I was in a hotel room in Florida. She told me what had been shouted at her and what she wished she’d said back. I told her I thought she should call them and say every word of it. So she did. “This is Becky from next door,” she said. “I’m sorry things turned out the way they did. I’m not angry at you. I want you to know I had nothing to do with the police getting involved. We don’t handle things that way. I’d rather talk through things with you so if you want to talk please call me or I’ll catch you in the front yard sometime this week maybe and we can talk then.”
The next day our neighbor sheepishly called Becky over to the fence and apologized. She was sick and life was full of frustrations but she admitted that was no excuse for the way she behaved. She apologized for the music being so loud and Becky said she didn’t mind the volume because we love music - it was the lyrics she didn’t want the kids to hear and repeat. Our neighbor nodded in agreement as if hearing Becky for the first time, as if realizing for the first time that this was Becky’s real concern all along. Then the conversation turned to kids and Summer schedules and the conversation stretched out for an hour or more.
The next day the dad from next door talked to Becky. He offered to loan us his mower. He apologized. Not just for his wife’s bad behavior but for not talking to us sooner. He thanked us for being good neighbors to them. And it’s only been a few days since but they’re acting like good neighbors to us now too. They keep their music down, offer to share their beer, wave at us with a sincere-looking smile. We’re not best friends, but we’re not enemies.
I’ve learned a lot about my neighbors in the last week or so. Yesterday, for instance, I found out my neighbor lost his job. A house payment, two kids, a wife, a black sports car with quite the sound system and no job. The mask is off.
