My neighbor “Bob” was shrinking before my eyes and his weight loss didn't look intentional.
But I didn't know him well enough to say, “You look like you could use some help, buddy,” so I was sly in my approach: “Hey, it's been a while,” I said, and after some banter continued, “Have I told you about my work on neighbors helping neighbors?”
Bob didn't bite the bait on the two occasions that I tried that approach.
Then one day, I saw him stooped over his dog looking so bad that I didn't hold back: “Uh, what's going on? You don't look so good.”
Bob explained that he had a chronic illness and had had surgery that morning.
“And you're walking your dog?!” I blurted out.
I told him that he should call me before attempting anything like that again, and gave him my cell number with the implicit understanding that it was for dog-walking support and other odd jobs.
At first, he used my number hesitantly, but slowly he got more comfortable with me.
My phone rang. Bob's name was on my caller ID.
I picked up waiting to hear what help he wanted, but soon realized that he'd called to chat. I cut the conversation short to get back to work.
The calls to chat picked up in frequency. I wasn't thrilled about it, but it was my fault:
I hadn't given Bob any dos and don'ts with my number.
DO call me when you're too ill to walk your dog or need an errand run.
DON'T call me to chat.
Send me a “Hey, wassup?” text instead, and I'll call you back when I'm at a good stopping point.
There's more to my and Bob's story, which I'll tell you next time.
But the moral of today's story isn't to avoid helping your neighbors because they might overstep boundaries, it's to set boundaries from the beginning and / or to course correct by making up rules as the need arises.
And if your neighbors aren't down with your rules of engagement, they can find other neighbors to engage. To repeat a thought from an earlier story I wrote, village making is about caring, NOT contorting ourselves to accommodate anyone.
