Scooter and Bon Bon

When Mother and I were looking to buy a new house, I had a few priorities. I wanted to be close to the school that our whole family attends. I wanted mature trees in the backyard. I wanted a front porch.

Well, we got a house that's close to the school – it’s a bike-ride away, or a good-sized walk. And we got the mature trees in the backyard, and I love them, though many of them will be leaving soon. (Actually, I’m typing this on the back deck, at 8:16, despite what the blog clock will tell you, and my favorite evening sunshine is hitting the trees in my favorite way. I try to get myself out here for that sunlight as often as I can.)

Okay. So I’ll tell you about the trees later.

First the porch.

I wanted a front porch because of my good friend Pat the Cat (full disclosure: he’s not really a cat.) and the stories he would tell about his neighborhood. P. t. C. lives in the kind of neighborhood I dreamed of, the kind where you get home from work, you stand on the driveway for a little while talking to the neighbor, and then another neighbor shows up with a couple of beers, and the kids are playing in the yards and the cul de sac, someone brings some food, and before you know it it’s, like, midnight, and everybody is happy and laughing and having a good time.

See? That’s a neighborhood. And I think that one of the things that creates that sense of neighborhoodliness is front porches. Pat the Cat’s neighborhood has front porches. People see each other.

Well, we bought a house. This was, what, five years ago? Six? Something. Nice house, but no front porch and not much of a neighborhood. (True story: Before we bought the house, I drove around to see if there would be friends for our kids. Imagine. I was in beat-up car, and I drove up to some lady, and though I know her now, at the time I was a creepy stranger, and I asked “Hey, are there any kids in this neighborhood?” I’m sure they were thrilled to see me move in.)

We don’t really know many of our neighbors very well, and I think that is, in part, due to the fact that no one hangs out in front, where people walk by. Everyone gets home, vacuum seals themselves in with their electric garage doors, and only goes outside, if ever, only in the back yard, where the trees are nice but won’t drink beer with you.

After living in the house for a couple of years we had met a couple of our closest neighbors, but there’s a curve in the cul de sac, and we didn’t know anyone around the curve. It’s a small curve, but it’s enough that you don’t see folks when they’re mowing their lawns and stuff. Anyway, I was in the front yard, and a neighbor walked by, we’ll call him Domino. I sort of knew Domino from church. Okay. So Domino walks by, and we’re talking. This was during the ’04 presidential campaign. We were laughing, cuz he had put a Bush sign in his yard, the first in the neighborhood, and so I got a Kerry sign, and the next day he had about twenty Bush signs in his yard. That was funny.

So we’re chatting, and another neighbor drives by, and he stops, because he knows Domino really well. Their kids go to school together. But he lives on the bulbous part of the cul de sac, way past the curve, so I didn’t know him at all. We’ll call this guy, umm, Oral. Okay. So Oral stops, and I’m liking this, because I like to know neighbors, you know? New friend, maybe. I’m thinking about going inside and grabbing a few beers. But then Oral tells me something that I didn’t know.

He notices the sign in my yard, and he informs me – with no irony here, he is not kidding – that if John Kerry wins the election, it will. . .

Ready for this?

It will usher in the Apocalypse.

Yes. Indeed.

And then he starts talking about the end times, and he’s quoting Revelations and stuff. This may not be news to you, but it sure was to me, that when ancient John was in his robe and sandals, sitting in the desert heat writing about beasts and fire from heaven, he was writing about the 2004 election in the U. S. of A.

Oral knows Domino and I are Catholic, so he avoids the whole thing about how Catholics are damned to hell for sure. Mostly he just bemoans the fact that I’ll be voting to support the end of all life on earth.

I’m okay with not having a front porch.

Since then, though, we’ve gotten to know some of our neighbors. We still know Domino, and next door there are Mr. and Mr. Neighbor, we went to a crazy party there once. Oh, twice. And we know the folks across the street, and the new guy next to them seems cool and beer-and-barbecuable. And there is the requisite old lonely guy who backs into other people’s cars and who everyone helps out by shoveling his snow or calling 911.

And next to the old guy, there at the corner, live our favorite neighbors, our very good friends. Here, I will call them Scooter and his lovely wife, Bon Bon.

With the arrival of Scooter and Bon Bon three years ago, I got the neighborhood I'd always wanted.

We met them shortly after they moved in. I was mowing the lawn, and they walked over to say hi, and I invited them in for a beer, and they left at three AM.

Since then, we have shared many beers and nights on the deck and martinis and margaritas and holidays. We watched them become a family of three. Their kid loves our kids and they love our kids and we love all of them and even our dogs are best friends, how cool is that?

We love Scooter and Bon Bon. They are family.

The other night, Saturday, I was out front fixing the mailbox. (Okay. About the mailbox. Fixing it had been on my to-do list ever since I broke it. I broke with the moving van. When we moved in. So I’m not so good at working through my to-do list.)

Scooter comes over with a beer. I like beer, and mostly I like good beer. But what is it about a free Bud Light on a beautiful afternoon when you're working in the sun? I'm no beer snob, much. It was freakin' delicious. And I totally did not get paid for that endorsement.

Mother was out of town.
(Me: “Welcome home, honey! I fixed the mailbox! With new brass numbers!”

Her: “Wow, honey! That looks terrific! Let’s have sex!”

Only through such delusions do chores get done at all.)

The kids were riding around the cul de sac on Razor scooters. That one delicious beer was followed by another, and then pizzas, and then Margaritas. This occurred over a long period of time. Drink responsibly! It was a perfect neighborhood night.

Have you every ridden a Razor Scooter? Razor Scooters are crazy fun. Another free endorsement. And our cul de sac is a bit of a hill, so you can really get going fast.

We were having Razor Scooter races. At one point, we even pulled out a roll of toilet paper for a finish line. Youngest won that one.

Look at my dog there. She's awesome.

At another point, Scooter pretended to fall, and he didn’t move, and his poor almost-two-year-old daughter completely freaked out, screaming “Daaaaady!” and crying, thinking he was dead. Fun!

After she went to bed, my kids took turns reenacting that scene.

Scooter and Bon Bon have the kind of relationship in which they pretend to be annoyed with each other all the time, but actually they adore each other and take care of each other in a way that is sweet and beautiful and maybe even borders on cute. It’s nice. Like this: whenever Bon Bon was riding a Razor, Scooter was a little nervous.

The three of us, Scooter, Bon Bon, and me, went to the top of the hill. We were going to race. the kids were quite excited.

I assumed Scooter and I would be holding back, because he had been a littl nervous about Bon Bon riding. Cute. (Plus, I thought it would be fun to watch Bon Bon.) But when the kids yelled “Go!” from down the street, Scooter took off like a shot.

My competitive instinct took over. We left Bon Bon in our dust and raced down the hill. We were flying. Somewhere, miles away, animals tilted their heads at the sound of our distant sonic boom.


It became clear, as we approached their mailbox / finish line, that I was not going to catch up to Scooter. He was going to win the race.

Then he did something a little, um, I dunno. Stupid, maybe?

He turned up Old Guy’s driveway. Actually, at this point, he was looking pretty slick.

But then he hit the turf.

Then he flew for a little while.

Then he planted his face in the sidewalk.

At this point, it was not funny. Scooter wasn’t moving. I admit, I was a little scared. I ran over to him (to be clear – this was AFTER I crossed the finished line)

(To be clearer, the finish line was RIGHT THERE, so I wasn’t a complete jerk.)

(It's not like I left him lying there while I finished the race. Really, it could be said that it would have been impossible for me not to cross the finish line. I mean, it was that close.)

(Still, I DID win)

(He didn’t. I did. I won the race.)

and he still wasn’t moving.

This was scary. Then he moved.

Oh. Ha! He’s kidding! Like he was before!

No. Not so much. He rolled over. There was a lot of blood.

There was a lot of blood.

Suddenly, I got all take-chargey. I was George Clooney on ER. But without the hair. I was Anthony Hopkins at best.

“Eldest, go, fast, (I said “fast.” I wish I had said “stat.” But I didn’t.) and get some wet paper towels. Daughter, take Youngest inside, watch a movie. No! Don’t come closer. Just go. Everything is okay. He’s fine. Don't look.”

He looked pretty gruesome. Big scrape on the side of his face – huge! – and a deep cut on his chin. Scrapes on all of his knuckles. And he thought he had broken his toe. Fun!

I took him to the ER. We had to wait a while. I had a Snickers bar. It was fantastic. Another unpaid endorsement.

I was glad to be with Scooter at the ER. It was important that he be cared for, and it was important that I be there to make sure he told the actual story of what happened, and not, as he tried one time, to tell a nurse that he had saved some old lady from getting mugged by ninjas.

He had to tell the story about twenty times. It was fantastic. And every time, I was there for him, adding this:

Me: “And what is the age of the owner of the scooter?”

Scooter: “Five.”

Me: “Very good.”

Three hours, five stitches (True story:

Scooter: “Is this going to hurt?”

Doctor: “No, no. I won’t feel a thing.”)

and a tetanus shot later, and off to home we go.

All in all, a great night in the neighborhood.