Strange Things Afoot

At our house we have a basketball hoop. We just went to Target and bought the cheap one, put it together, threw some sandbags on the base and away we went.

We've had it for two years. Now, our house is not actually a house, it's a townhouse. Which means we have an association which probably frowns on basketball hoops, but it's never been a problem. One of neighbors across the driveway, Jason, used to play on it all the time. The other neighbor across the driveway (there are four units to a driveway), Ted, also loved the idea. So much so that after I set it up, Ted and Jason each pitched in for a third of the cost so we all owned it. That way if the association ever asked "Whose is that?" we could all say, "Not mine."

We had some great games of 21 and Horse the first year. Then Jason moved away and, reportedly, got addicted to cocaine. Bummer.

Ted and I have had some great times out shooting hoops. We've talked about our favorite NBA moments from years past, good and bad movies, our various jobs over the years, marriage and relationships, and now kids. I've been feeling pretty close to him lately. I respect him a great deal and we've gotten along great.

This week, four kids came over to our driveway and asked Michelle and I if it was okay to shoot baskets. They brought their own basketball. We said sure, that was great. I came outside with Toby and Alicia to play with them. Toby rode his tricycle and I got out his new bike with training wheels for the youngest of our new friends.

They were obviously African immigrants, either Sierra Leone or Uganda. Michelle wasn't sure. They spoke another language to each other and understood English very well.

While we were all out playing, Ted came out of his house. I waved hello, he nodded. He went over to the new kids and said, "You guys know this isn't a public park, right? I don't want you thinking this is a community hoop or anything."

His words were so far from what I was expecting that it took several seconds for my brain to kick in and react. You know the feeling, like when you used to daydream in class because you knew the teacher never called on you, and then that one time, she does. I was expecting him to join in and play with us. I felt very strange.

"Oh, they asked if it was okay first. I said they could play."

Once I had explained, Ted went back in. About ten minutes later, the kids decided they should go home. I felt sad.

Two days later, they came back. It wasn't a good time for us to come outside, but we said they could go ahead and play on the hoop. It never even crossed my mind that Ted would still have a problem with it. But after a while, he came out and talked to them again. Michelle and I both rushed outside, our own kids already asleep in bed, to come to the rescue. I was truly bewildered as I asked Ted if this was a problem.

It was. We moved away from where the kids stood watching, and he vehemently explained that he was not cool with the driveway being open to the community, that he didn't want his four-year-old daughter playing with kids he didn't know, and that he questioned our wisdom in letting them hang out around our house.

We tried to offer our position. We want to be their friends. We try not to be paranoid about people until they give us a reason. We moved here because we wanted our kids to be friends with the other kids in this neighborhood. Our arguments were insignificant, and in truth we didn't even get much out of our mouths. Ted declared that if we didn't respect him that was fine and we didn't need to have the conversation. He actually walked away while we were still trying to explain. The last thing I got out before he left was that we very much respected him, which was why it was important to us to have the conversation with him. Conversation was not an option. He voiced his disapproval and shut us out. He clearly did not intend ever to speak to us again.

As much as Ted surprised me the first night, it was nothing compared to the shock I had this time. I had never seen anything in his personality that would have prepared me for his inability to deal with the situation or even have a discussion about it. Michelle and I were both bewildered and hurt. We told the kids we wanted to be their friends and that they could come back anytime, but decided that out of respect for Ted's wishes, we would tell them they could only play when one of us was out there with them.

One of Toby's favorite Bible stories lately has been Jericho. We decided to borrow that as inspiration and walk around our block once a day for seven days. Tonight will be the third night. Here's to walls falling down.