Lucy and I just got finished walking a couple of miles in our neighborhood. It’s a beautiful night — unseasonably warm at 69 degrees and strong winds that hint of the storms heading our way Thursday.
Next month will complete my fourth year in this neighborhood. As I walked tonight, I found myself thinking about my first reaction to this place. At the time, I was in a serious financial crisis and I was losing the home where I had lived for 20 years. It was a much nicer place in a much more prestigious neighborhood.
When I first drove by this house to check it out, I turned up my nose at it. Surely, I was too good for this sort of neighborhood.
That’s not what I actually said to myself, of course, but that’s what I really meant. And as I walked through this working class neighborhood a few minutes ago — a stone’s throw from the high school baseball game from which I could hear cheering — I found myself remembering my silent judgment of another man’s home 20 years ago.
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