.5

A stranger moved in next door. At least, that was his status five years ago when the For Sale sign was removed from the lawn of the house to the east of our home. I did the snoopy neighbor thing and tried to piece together his identity by the contents of the moving van. It looked as though he was moving in alone and had lived a life of some means. Nothing flashy but nothing too flimsy, either. His gray hair and demeanor indicated a possible retirement status and the large snowblower he unloaded was a sign of Midwestern roots. It looked like he would be a quiet neighbor and I approved.

Soon after his arrival, the neighbor to the south of us shared a morsel of news that changed everything. The new guy had a past and it wasn't pretty.  In fact, our southern neighbor announced his decision to put his home on the market. He did not want his young family exposed to such things. We expressed our sympathy to the young man but we knew in our hearts that moving would not be an option for us, timewise or financially. We were neighborhood oldies and had seen many folks come and go. We were prepared to interact with the new resident with as much grace as we could muster.

Fast forward five years to a dinner party at the home of the couple who purchased the house to the south of us. Seated around the table were four neighborhood couples and one single gentleman. Depending on the juxtapositions of our homes, we knew little or much about each other. Our common denominator was the man with a past.  For two years, he had tried to gather us together so he could treat us to an evening of food and fellowship. As busy schedules would have it, nothing worked out until last week. Introductions and stories began to flow as the melt-in-your-mouth smoked ribs were passed with the homegrown corn and beets. And, of course, no Midwestern meal is complete without cheesy potatoes and thick slices of warm bread.

It wasn't long before we realized how closely related we were in our life experiences and personal connections. We knew mutual friends and relatives. We had visited similar locations in our travels. We endured early career hiccups that have morphed from traumatic to amusing with the passage of time. We cleared many sidewalks for each other after snowstorms. We mourned the loss of youthful vitality and embraced the urgency of capturing joy in life's fleeting moments. Our stories were punctuated by laughter and nods of empathy.

Near the end of our meal, the guy with a past raised his glass in a toast. "When I moved to this neighborhood I was, not unexpectedly, met with opposition. I wondered if I would be able to stay. Gratefully, each of you around this table let me be your neighbor and for that, I say, thank you."

We are Midwesterners, unaccustomed to compliments, but we raised our glasses and thanked our new friend for bringing us together. We all agreed the old adage of six degrees of separation is not really true after all. We are more likely a half degree away from each other. It just takes a dinner party and a few good snowstorms to find that out.