The primary-colored eyesore became a community gathering place We were at the end of one of those summer nights that draw out endlessly with their laziness and warmth, until it feels like a secret is bound to come out. Four of us were gathered around a makeshift fire pit in a concrete driveway, watching its embers grow dim. That was when my neighbors admitted, quite by accident, that their real estate agent had advised them against buying the house that they now lived in?the house right next door to mine.
?Are you sure you wanna live next to that"? my neighbor, Jess, recalled her real estate agent asking. By ?that,? he had meant our home, and more specifically the assortment of kiddie litter that peppers the front yard, contaminating the surrounding property values and perpetually embarrassing my landlord. It is a rotating mix of balls, bats, and rubber superheroes missing their heads. It takes a very special type of person to answer that yes, they actually do want to live next to ?that.? We could have missed out on knowing our neighbors?missed out on knowing our entire neighborhood, really?if we hadn?t been willing to let our front yard be an honest reflection of the chaos of our lives.
Whatever it means to ?put on airs,? my husband and I are the opposite of that. (In fact, when I envision our family in our most natural habitat, we are radiating dirt, Pig-Pen style.) Our first apartment was a one-bedroom, wink-and-it?s-legal rental that did not have insulation...