This post was contributed by a community member. The views expressed here are the author's own.

Community Corner

It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

It's easier to reach someone on the other side of the world, yet difficult to know the person next door.

My neighbors’ baby finally arrived–a bit overdue–but healthy, with ten fingers and ten toes. A girl and she’s beautiful. (Really she is, I’m not just being polite.)

She’s their first. At this writing, she is only a few days old, just home from the hospital and mostly asleep. Her parents filled with wonder are already sleep deprived. The newness, the overwhelming comprehension of exactly how much their lives have changed, hasn’t fully hit them yet.

Shortly after her homecoming, I saw the new dad in his driveway, a tad punch-drunk from the experience of witnessing his daughter’s birth. I remember that euphoric state from when my first-born, a daughter, arrived into this world. I also remember the sense of panic I felt when I arrived home and realized I was supposed to know what to do.

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Oh, I knew how to change diapers and feed a baby. I had babysat as a teen and been around lots of other people’s kids (including my niece and nephews), but she was my baby and she was here to stay.

Did I mention I was a nurse? Everyone assumed that I knew all about babies—that I knew what to do. I didn’t. I had no idea.

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I had worked in both pediatric and maternity units. I even delivered a baby once. A woman on a bus was in active labor (with her fourth child) and the bus driver, terrified of being pressed into service to assist in the delivery, drove the bus full of people off his normal route straight into the hospital emergency room parking lot. He leaned on the horn and yelled for help. I was the first person to arrive, thus I “caught” the baby as it made its noisy entrance.

None of those experiences prepared me for motherhood. Seeing my exhausted neighbor brought it all back.

I welcomed him home, handed him a bouquet of daffodils and asked if I could bring them dinner. A huge smile spread across his unshaven face as he said, “We accept!” That’s when it occurred to me yet again, how easy it is to become disconnected from our neighbors.

I grew up knowing everyone in a three-block radius, going in and out of friend’s houses as if they were my own. When someone new moved in, the neighborhood organized a welcoming party. If a family had a baby or an illness, neighbors prepared meals for a week or two. No one felt it was an imposition because everyone knew if the need arose, the favor would be reciprocated.

Today most of us are so busy in our individual lives we’ve lost the personal concept of neighborly interaction. We don’t stand in our yards leaning over the fence chatting and catching up, we text or email instead. Neighborhoods use email list servers to share information and resources. My neighborhood has one, and it’s fantastic, but I never see the people logging in or personally talk to them.

Commercial businesses and Caltrain border our association, our homes are close together, but often the distance between us seems much greater. Many homeowners work during the day, so coffee klatsching is out. Coffee downtown is more common than dropping by someone’s house. My neighbors have held several get-togethers since I’ve moved in, and they were great fun, but for the most part our neighborliness constitutes waving “hello” as we pick up our mail or deal with our trash and recycle containers.

I’ve lived in Mountain View long enough to see a familiar face at the post office, the farmers’ market or a civic meeting. The greater my involvement, the more people I meet. Old Mountain View has a wonderful neighborhood ambiance, diverse in language and background, with a strong sense of community and a passion to make this city the best possible. I’m glad to be part of the process.

In many ways, digital technology has redefined what constitutes neighbors and neighborhoods—the concept has literally expanded to include the world. Why is it so easy to reach someone on the other side of the world, yet at the same time so difficult to know the person on our block or even next door?

Being neighborly in our fast-paced lives may no longer include chats or Jell-O salads, but it behooves each of us to behave in ways that make us good neighbors. From where I sit, caring about one another is the most essential part of the equation.

My friend, Christine, signs her emails with the phrase: One can make a difference. It’s almost a challenge. Someone has to take the first step. I may meet a curmudgeon or a nuisance neighbor along the way (at some time or another I may even be that person) but I might also meet a new friend. Perhaps, like Mr. Rogers, we need to ask more often, “Won’t you be my neighbor?”

Bringing dinner to the newly expanded family across the alley felt natural to me. I hope it made a difference for them. I know they will be moving in the not too distant future. When that happens I will miss them—good neighbors are hard to find.

For the record, I didn’t bring Jell-O.

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