BLOCK BUSTERS

The realization finally hit me Thursday morning as I stepped out onto my front porch on the way to work and saw the two big ass Chevy trucks under my neighbor’s carport—I officially live in a red neck neighborhood. I should have known when the new folks moved into the house on the other side of me, the ones who tied their vicious dog to the clothesline and ignored him when he barked twenty four seven. I sort of got used to the dog eventually, but the African American family that lived on the other side of them didn’t. They left after a few months, and were replaced with a man who operates a bulldozer and has a lot of missing teeth. I know this sounds bad, but I should mention that the houses in our area are valued between $400,000 and $500,000, which is fairly high end for Richmond suburbs. I certainly don’t want to give anyone the impression that I don’t respect hard work, but the shirt collars around me seem to have morphed from white to blue while I wasn’t really paying attention.

My old neighbor, the one who lived in the spot where the white dog now runs back and forth barking, was a liberal democrat like myself. The black neighbor, who lived where the heavy equipment operator now lives, was reared in bad old Virginia. He went door to door shortly after he moved in to take the temperature of the neighborhood. For some reason, perhaps his formal but humble demeanor, I entertained him in my front parlor rather than the kitchen table. I still think of that, and wonder if I was being respectful, or if I have some subtle hidden prejudice. I believe if he had come a second time we would have sat around my table over coffee, but no matter how often I asked he and his wife to stop by, our relationship was confined to chats in the yard and waves as he passed by in his car. I have not asked any of the new folks over, although I did my usual and carried baked goods to their doors by way of welcome when they arrived. Unlike my liberal democrat friend who had a key to the front door of our house, the new folks don’t even know that a key is not necessary, since we only lock the doors about once a year.

(note: I want a paragraph break here, but evidently new Blogger does not, so I give up.)

My middle son, the eternal pessimist, was not at all reassuring when I mentioned my discovery. “Mom”, he said with a duh in his voice, “You have always lived in a redneck neighborhood from the time you were a child in Kentucky.” I protested, and he started telling me about friends he had played with when he was younger who were evidently the biggest group of peckerwoods since the Hatfields and the McCoys. No rose colored glasses for my lad; he just calls them like he sees them. I started thinking back and wondered if I have let the few liberals I associated with lull me into thinking the world around me was more enlightened than I projected. I didn’t ask son about this, because I already know his opinion. I guess he could be right, but since I have no control over yesterday I will just deal with the reality of today, those big ass trucks with the extended cabs. I am dangerously close to sounding like a bit of a bigot myself, but having had my fill of good old boys in my younger days in Podunk KY, I had thought to put the past behind me and move in more sophisticated circles. Although I am a little ashamed to say so, the time to get this house on the market has been moved forward. I sure hope there’s another moderately wealthy redneck out there looking for a new place to park the Chevy, tie up the dog, and play “If I’d shot you when I wanted to I’d be out by now” full blast on the truck radio while he overhauls the engine.