Ice Cream Social

I used to play tag with my neighborhood friends. Along with tag there was Mother May I, Freeze Tag, Hide and Seek, Snake in the Grass (one person would have to crawl around on the grass trying to tag people who would run--you could only use the small patch of land that was in your front yard--I don't know what you were thinking!). A few of my friends and I would gather all our books, label them, set up a table and some improvised shelving and run our own library right out of my front yard. And talent shows . . . we had plenty. My friend Wendy and I were typically the stars. We performed our own version of Flashdance and Fame. We were amazing. Really. We were (And deluded, but we'll save that for another story).

Our neighborhood was in the ghetto less affluent part of town, yet there was always something happening on my block. Yard sales and lemonade stands. Music blaring from teenagers' boom boxes. Mom's walking their babies, stopping at every other house to chat. Neighbors planting, weeding, and watering. Kids racing on everything from their Big Wheels to their ten speeds. When the street lights came on you would observe countless kids hightail it back home. Even with the children safely ensconced in their houses, there was still this buzz that hung in the air. And together with the low hum from the streetlights, it was like music that lasted through the night.

Now. I'm all grown up (relatively speaking) and living in my own neighborhood. It is a beautiful site. No doubt. The gently sloping hills lead from one drive to another. There are trees, looking as old as time, that drape the streets and provide and an endless canopy over each house. Each house is different, unlike my childhood cookie cutter neighborhood. Some are square and traditional while others are oddly angular and whimsical. However, it isn't just the houses that are different.

Outside of an occasional wave or nod, there is very little interaction. I've never been invited to a neighbor's party. I couldn't tell you the names of even a half dozen of our neighbors. We wave politely when we pass one another in our cars or on foot. We give a knowing smile when we see each other at the local stores. But, seldom a word is spoken.

I don't think anyone is being unfriendly or anti-social. I just think that over the last several years there has been very few opportunities for us to interact. I spoke with an elderly neighbor, one that has been around since the building of the first homes in the neighborhood, and he confessed that things had changed. People in our neighborhood used to meet all the time. There were block parties nearly every month during the summer. There were card games, play dates, friendly athletic rivalries (and even some not-so-friendly--but hey, exciting times nonetheless) . . . you name it. It was a neighborhood, with real bona fide neighbors that had grown into friends. He was saddened that over the years those traditions had fallen to the wayside.

This past Christmas I tried to build a bridge. Just a little one. After all, this is now J's neighborhood and I want him to have even a taste of what I had growing up in my childhood neighborhood. So, I baked cookies. I spent hours elbow deep in flour, sugar, and a variety of chips, flakes, nuts, and powders (I'm not much of a cook/chef/baker, but I can whip up some mean cookies). I bought cute little tins, filled them with coordinating tissue paper, gently placed the assortment of cookies inside, sprinkled in a few candies and headed out the door.

Maybe my cookies weren't so good. Maybe they were just in sugar shock after the super sweet holiday season. I didn't hear from my neighbors after said cookie delivery. It didn't produce the effect I wanted. Nods didn't turn into chats and waves didn't turn into play dates.

I tried again.

As soon as the ice started to melt, I packed up J, snuggled him in the stroller and headed out for a walk. I waved at neighbors. They waved back. I said good morning to a few walkers. They nodded. I complimented a neighbor on her blooming garden (this from someone who still has trouble distinguishing a weed from a real plant). She smiled.

I did this for weeks. I still do this. Hoping against hope that something other than the nod/smile/wave might occur.

I know what your thinking. Well, just start talking to them. Help them with their garden. Invite them over for coffee. Offer to baby sit. Buy them a car! The thought has crossed my mind.

But instead. I'm going to go all out and make one last attempt . . .

Ice cream.

I won a contest. Take a look . . .

An Edy's Ice Cream block party. Ice cream. The stuff happy souls of made of.

If this doesn't work, I don't know what will. Got a neighbor/neighborhood story to share? Any advice to yank some personality out of my 'hood?

This kid is ready for some serious neighborhood fun . . . and momma is running out of ideas.