It happens every time we visit a museum or castle. The pristine grounds will be marked with “keep off the grass” signs (in multiple languages). With the large crowds navigating on sidewalks or paths, inevitably, there is always one person, grinning from ear to ear, certain they are the only person who was smart enough to get this camera perspective. So proud as they stand firm, unknowingly, next to the warning sign. Now I get it, sometimes the language barrier can be tricky, and I never blame children, but most of us possess the awareness to in fact “keep off the grass.” 

The thing is, we learned it right from the start, didn’t we? I remember Mrs. Strand was the first — our kindergarten teacher. And even when Mrs. Podolski replaced her mid year so she could go have her twins, it continued — this identifying the child seated in the next desk as a “neighbor.” Papers were hung next to our neighbors’. Our cubby holes were kept clean out of respect for our neighbors’. We stood in line at the drinking fountain with our neighbors. Marched out calmly in fire drills. Went to lunch. Whispered in the library. Climbed through times tables. Always beside our neighbor. 

Maybe I noticed it because I loved our house neighborhood on VanDyke Road. I loved the people. I loved knowing whose screen door was always open. Whose house wouldn’t mind an extra bike abandoned in the driveway. I even loved Mrs. Muzik’s yard with the pristine grass that we weren’t allowed to run through — because she, too, was our neighbor. And that meant something.

Today, we have the possibility to connect with more people around the world. And I am grateful for these connections. Truly. But I see how some communicate with each other. Trampling over each other. It shocks me still. I understand that things change. Washington School is filled with condos. They paved over the familiar gravel of VanDyke Road. But aren’t we still neighbors? I’d like to think so. I will go on thinking so, as I navigate the pristine.