MR. WILSON

This blog is dedicated to Abby Georgina Meeks.

When we were kids, we used to make fun of the families in the neighborhood with older children. Lets refer to them as the "Smith Family."

We tried to stay away from the Smith house, mostly because we were completely terrified by it. There were never any people outside, besides Mr. Smith when he tended to his gardens on weekends, and their two teenage kids were always coming and going in their cars. They never waved, so we never waved. There was an awkward animosity between us, so really we couldn’t have cared less about whether we were inconveniencing them when we would be flying down the road on our bikes.

Mr. Smith was a working man. The only time we really saw him was when he would get the mail on the way home from work, and outside in his garden during the summer months. He was very scary, and we did our best to avoid playing near the Smith house because he would get very angry if balls/Frisbees/any other flying object would land in his yard. Sometimes we often wondered if our toys had a magnetic attraction to his garden. Regardless, when it was a toy we loved too much to let go, we often RPSed [Rock Paper Scissored, for all you nons] to see who the unlucky retriever would be. Most of the time it was me. Insert mad dash to and from toy in hopes of not getting shot by Mr. Smith’s landscape protection Beebe gun.

Teenage Boy Smith was also scary. He always had other [older, rebellious, equally scary] friends over, but also biked to and from his friends houses on a regular basis. We tried to give him space when we saw him because even though we didn’t know him, we knew he was older, and that meant automatic road respect… not to mention the fact that we were completely and totally petrified of him. You never waved to Teenage Boy Smith, because that just simply was uncool. If he ever waved at one of us, we would become instant celebrities in the eyes of the other neighborhood kids.

Older teenage girl Smith was less scary than both Mr. Smith and Teenage Boy Smith. She sometimes used to babysit for us, so at one point she had to know our names and care about our well being. If I was feeling particularly friendly, I would wave to Older Teenage Girl Smith and she would always wave back and smile. Sometimes, she would wave at me, and I would immediately smile, wave, and greet her. I always felt like we had this secret connection, I always idolized her and she always noticed me. I would immediately feel cool whenever she acknowledged me. Here she was, off to some super important, trendy, and happening event, but she would take the time and energy to wave and smile to me. I want to be just like her, oh my god, she is so popular. Often times, our moms would be talking at the end of the driveway, and I would rush out to join if I saw her joining in. She always knew my name, and that made me feel awesome.

Mrs. Smith was the nicest of all the Smith family. She would always wave every time she drove by us, and often times she would roll down her window and say hello. She was friends with my mom, so that meant she would kill us, solely because she talked to my mom, so we knew we were safe around her. If she was in the vicinity, we would casually walk into the Smith’s yard and get it, because Mrs. Smith wouldn’t let Mr. Smith get grumpy with us. Life was good when Mrs. Smith was around.

Today I realized that my family has become the Smith Family.

All of the neighborhood kids and parents are scared of my dad. He is known for keeping his lawn pristine, and yelling at neighbors who let their dogs use his lawn as a restroom. I like it when Bob gets really feisty and says things like: “Next time I see their dog pooping on my lawn, I will go poop on theirs.” You show ‘em, Dad!

Matt is totally Teenage Boy Smith. He rarely talks to the neighborhood kids and spends most of his time in the red putt-putt, our basement, or the various other batcaves of his friends. Most interaction Matt has had with a neighborhood kid? A fun game of cat and mouse trying to avoid hitting the kids as he backs out of our driveway. Always a fun game to play first thing in the morning.

I am the Older Teenage Girl Smith. I realized this today when I waved at one of the neighborhood girls in her cute second day of school outfit standing at the bus stop. I also realized that I am not nice to the ones who like to strategically play in the blind spot of my reversing car during the summer. Basic life lesson: if you can’t see me, I can’t see you. I would hit you if for only a minimal amount of self satisfaction, but vehicular homicide wouldn’t be good for my insurance crisis and/or my driving record. I should probably work on that mentality. Regardless, I try to be nice, but I don’t always succeed.

My mom is Mrs. Smith. The neighborhood kids love her. She always waves to all of them when they race her on their bikes, and she always says hello to her favorites, even if that means rolling the window down and screaming to the kids halfway down the road. She talks to all the moms and is always fully aware of the neighborhood happenings. Overall, if I were seven, I’d want to be friends with her out of any of us.

Sigh. We are like the Wilsons of Guzzlebrook Drive. But Wilsons can menace too, right Georgie?!