My neighbor is like an alien to me; it's like I'm talking to someone who does not belong to my own species.
"I have a friend," he says. "He's gay, too. He invited me to Saint Lucie for a few days, for a gay party cruise. And I thought about it. I really thought about it. But I'm nearing fifty, and my body is not what it was; I know I would just feel self-conscious...."
I nod politely. I cannot begin to imagine a universe in which I would entertain a request from a "gay party cruise," and the idea of really weighing the decision seems comical to me. It's like if someone said, "Do you want me to pluck out your eyes and skewer them, and then roast each of your inner organs on a campfire?" ...and I said, "I'm not sure. I really need to think about this...."
My neighbor (bearing gifts) is possibly Joshua's favorite person. Joshua tears open one gift--a "home edition" of Whack-a-Mole--and begins to attack his sister with the rubber mallet. Pure glee is written across his face. Joshua rarely shows me this same expression, perhaps because my example of father-son bonding is thirty quiet minutes with "An Agatha Christie Panel Discussion," on YouTube.
I think--in this scenario--I'm Ned Flanders, and I live next door to Homer Simpson. When the camera actually trains its focus on Ned, we learn of the "drama" within the Flanders household. "It's time for Bible school!" says Ned, and his son shakes his head and goes back to sleep. Horrified, Ned says, "Why do you defy me????" And the little boy says, "Because.....it's not Sunday. It's SATURDAY!"
I'm certain this is how my own neighbor sees me. At least for now. Such is life.
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