Neighbors, Front Yards & Tattered Flags

One of my neighbors across the street flies an American flag year round from his front porch. He’s lived on the block for forty years, watching our street change year after year. Some changes he sees as good. Other changes, not so much. He’s an older man with a kind heart. And even though he was best friends with the man who lived in our house before us, he was the first person to welcome us to the street.

This time two years ago was really tough for him. Five houses, including ours, started flying pride flags that summer, while his house still flew the stars and stripes. That fall, political signs littered yards in our neighborhood. Like everyone’s neighborhood in an election year, our street was clearly divided. You could feel the tension in curbside conversations as November crept nearer. But his signs were the only ones I know of vandalized on our block.

I think it was after the second time his signs were targeted that he stopped feeling welcome in his own neighborhood. I think he felt heartbroken, alone, and defeated. Maybe his street stopped feeing like his home. He’s the kind of man that has his sidewalk clear before anyone else, every single time it snows. Then he helps clear snow for a few of his neighbors. But for every snow that winter, he didn’t help anyone. Sometimes he didn’t even clear his own.

Last spring and summer we made an effort to say hi to him whenever we could. He’d visit for a few minutes with you, but you could tell it just wasn’t the same. His heart might still have been broken, his soul still crushed. He was always the guy blasting spooky music on Halloween, fire pit in the front yard while passing out candy. But not last Halloween. That night he kept his porch lights out.

At one point during last fall or this past winter, our conversation with our neighbor briefly turned to flags. His American flag was weatherbeaten and tattered, stripes split apart like streamers, dangling from the stars. Our flag had aged and faded too, but not like his. I don’t remember if we asked. But our neighbor said he’d replace his flag when we got a new president. Until then, he’d keep it just the way it was.

This past winter was long, and the snow fell heavy and often. It felt like we were constantly clearing another round of snow. And even though it took forever for spring to thaw, I felt our neighbor thaw some too. He’d walk across the street and visit for a few minutes, a break for both of us while we cleared snow. He started saying hello more often again, sitting on his front porch sometimes too.

The other day I noticed that his flag was no longer tattered. It looks new, but not brand new, so I’m not sure how long it’s been there. Maybe weeks without catching my eye. But, I’ve noticed a change in my neighbor these past few months. That change came well before the flag. I can see the flag from my front upstairs window. And some nights before going to bed, I’d spend a few minutes watching the red and white streamers dance in the wind.

On those nights I’d watch the tattered flag and wonder what our street was like forty years ago, when my neighbor was young and just moving in. I’d wonder what it would feel like to have lived somewhere for so long. And what it would feel like when it stopped being the same.

I think for a while my neighbor gave up on our little section of neighborhood. I think he felt so incredibly crushed and alone that he didn’t want to try anymore. But slowly he started saying hello again. Not to everyone, but at least to some of us. And now, even though we have the same president, he put out a new American flag.

To me, it’s a sign of hope. You don’t replace things if you don’t believe in the future. Hope in a future, any future, is how we get out of bed each day. So even if we’re different, it’s good to see my neighbor meticulously caring for his lawn again, his new flag flying in the background.