What does it mean to be a good neighbour?
Since it's Thursday, and some days I like to participate in the whole Throwback Thursday thing, I think I will talk about what I think makes a good neighbour, and then, I will talk about the very worst I've had in my life (throwback).
So first, what it means to be a good neighbour:
I know there are more than one ways to interpret what a neighbour is considered to be. In this post, I mean the one who lives next door to you. (Or across the street.)
Here's what I honestly think: respecting your neighbour and their property is key. Respecting their privacy is so important. And don't judge if you don't know. Try to be friends if you want, but don't push it. Be polite.
I like my neighbours I live near now. On one side, there is a big family with loud kids. While the kids are loud, they also seem like genuine kids. I haven't met the people on the other side. The people across the street have waved and smiled, but that's about it. That's all I really need.
For the bad neighbours:
The very worst neighbour I ever had is a pretty easy lesson in how to be a better neighbour. Lesson one: Don't be a criminal.
I was in a house that was made into apartments in a smaller town. There were two suites on the top, and three suites in the basement. All of the suites had kitchens and everything I needed.
The fellow who was living in the basement suite closest to mine, must have had a key from the previous tenant. (Or he knew how to break into suites.) I'm pretty sure he spent time in my suite. Actually, I know he did. Doing what? I chose not to think about it. Nothing was missing that meant anything to me, but that doesn't mean he didn't take anything. I'm pretty sure he smoked in my apartment though, which is the worst thing, in my eyes. Gross.
He also used my name as a reference, giving them my grandmother's phone number as a way to get a hold of me. I didn't live with my grandmother, and the only way he could have known that is going through my things.
I don't know how long he got away with it, but when I finally clued in (somebody called my grandma for a reference, and she called me), I reported it and had the owners change my locks.
To be honest, I don't know if anything happened with it. I think the kid was not the most law abiding to begin with, so in the end he got caught for something. I had already moved out of the town.
At the time, Rolo was my pet, and I'm guessing he was there when this guy broke into my suite. Gah! This was in my basement suite.
In this case, the only lesson is, don't break into my house. I'll like you a lot more. Don't smoke in my place either.
Next Story:
In a different town, actually the town I lived right after in Alberta, I had okay luck with neighbours in my first place, but then I moved in with my boyfriend (at the time). He bought a house, and we moved in together to it.
The neighbours appeared to be nice. They had nice and well behaved children, but the more the adults spoke to us, the more uncomfortable I was with them. I think for the most part it was a bit of a small town thing. They wanted to know everything.
The mother/wife was the worst though. I used to try to have conversations, but finally gave up when I realised she just said rude/snide things most of the time. (Towards us.)
I had heard that they weren't nice to one of the father's/husband's coworker that I knew. So it wasn't a really big surprise. It was a relief to get away from them though. They just made me feel awkward. Also - there was no backyard fence to separate us. It made things worse.
So lesson in this situation? Umm, don't be rude and snide, and mind your business. Fences are good.
(No fence on one side.)
That's it for today. Stories of crazy neighbours from the past, and my opinion on good ones.
PS: The last story with the rude neighbours? We had awesome neighbours across the street, so they made up for it!
As always,
"Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year."
Ralph Waldo Emerson
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