If you've been following my stories, you may remember that I've had an ongoing and very tumultuous relationship with an ornery neighbor named Walt Musselman. Do you remember? He's the guy who has the ability to degrade, put down, criticize, and belittle almost, correction, everything I do.
Since my original story about Walt, I'm happy to report that he has moved on. Thankfully, he got sick of the neighbors leaves blowing into his yard each fall and decided to move to an area with no trees. There is truly a God.
Approximately a year ago, the ornery old codger spied me trimming the shrubs in front of our home and naturally made a beeline down the road and across my lawn. I had given up trying to sneak around undetected because the man had some sort of superhuman radar that only seemed to alert when I stepped out of my house. "I'm moving, did you hear?" he said excitedly while simultaneously spraying me with a shower of spit. He was carefully eyeballing my trim job and was surely ready to launch a barrage of criticisms concerning the shoddy work.
"No, I didn't hear! Are you kidding? That's great! I mean good for you." I could hardly contain the emotion that was bubbling inside me. Finally, after years of torment, I would be free of this man. The feeling I had was not unlike having a hemorrhoid lanced. In fact, he had much in common with a hemorrhoid, only worse. Oh, the relief.
"Yeah, I'm building another house. 'Bout five miles from here. I'm sick of raking other people's leaves. Some of them are probably yours" he said.
"Nah, I doubt it. Your house is a quarter mile from me. Besides, the prevailing winds blow from your direction. You're not getting any of my leaves."
"Well, you're a better weather man than a shrub trimmer. That one there looks like someone did it with a weed eater" came the retort, and another spray of spittle.
I briefly looked at the shrub but didn't let his comment get the best of me that time because I could hardly contain my overwhelming joy and couldn't wait to share the news with Kristi, who still thought it was I who was the problem. "Nice talking to you Walt. I need to run, enjoy the rest of your evening." Without hesitation, I bolted into the house and broke the wonderful news to my wife.
Sure enough, within a few months, Walt moved and that miserable chapter in my life had come to a close. Almost.
Last week, I grabbed my wallet and keys and headed for the door in route to pick up our son, Ryan, from football practice. Kristi wasn't home, so I yelled for our daughter, Sidney, and asked if she wanted to go for the ride. "Sure" came the reply from somewhere upstairs.
As usual, Ryan climbed into the car and the first words out of his mouth were, "what's for dinner?"
"Uh, mom made fish and broccoli. Maybe some other stuff."
"I'm starving, can we go to Wendy's instead" the boy replied, with somewhat of a beggars tone.
"Yeah, sure."
I wheeled the car into Wendy's parking lot and stopped. "We're going in. Your mom fully expects you to eat what she prepared, so we're not bringing any evidence of eating here home with us. Got it?" I learned long ago to never, ever leave any evidence lying around that would suggest that I'd rather eat a Baconator than her fish and broccoli.
"Yeah, we got it," came the reply in unison.
We ordered and made our way to a table nearest our car. We made small talk about the school day and football practice and how we MUST eat a few bites of fish and broccoli when we got home. Suddenly, without warning, he appeared like a ghost from my past. Walt! I hadn't seen the guy for months and yet, there he stood. "Oh crap, there's Walt. Don't turn around, he might see us. I'm still healing from twelve years of pure torture..." I whispered, before being cut off by my merciless son.
"Mr. Musselman! Hey Mr. Musselman!" Ryan chirped, while waving like he was heading off for a six month Navy cruise.
Walt immediately turned to see who was yelling his name. Ryan had done the unthinkable. Sidney was snickering into a napkin, barely able to contain herself. Directly, I began to wonder how much prison time killing my son with a Wendy's tray would carry. "What is wrong with you? Now he's going to come over..."
"Sit with us Mr. Musselman," Sidney squealed. I began to wonder if I'd get the electric chair for killing both offspring. For years, both kids had taken delight in my pain. Sometimes they'd say that Walt was heading for our house, causing me to run for cover. Usually it was a mean spirited and hateful joke aimed at me.
The old man sauntered over and plopped down directly across the table from me. "I can't believe you're eating that crap. You don't realize it, but that's going to cause your heart attack one day," he said. A simple hello would have been grand. "Me? I'm a salad man.'
"I can see that. Well, I'm usually a very healthy eater, but the occasional hamburger won't hurt I guess," I said, fully annoyed and still unsure of what method I would use to kill my children.
"Mr. Musselman, I wish you'd stop by sometimes. Dad said that he misses you and wished you would come by once in a while," Sidney said, with a very sinister smile creeping across her face. "He gets lonely during the day when we're in school and he's home by himself," she continued, to my dismay. Ryan excused himself and was heading for the restroom and briefly glanced in my direction. That smile would definitely be wiped from his face later.
We hastily finished our meal, but not before 'ol Walt launched a barrage of putdowns, and criticisms my way. He claimed that I was over mowing my lawn and thus killing the grass. He also, said that our home still appeared to be leaning to one side. He was very complimentary of the kids though.
We excused ourselves and left Walt alone with his salad. I climbed into the driver's seat of my car and sat, silently, staring out the window. "Dad, we just couldn't resist. It's just so funny. Sorry," Ryan said, grinning ear to ear.
As I steered the car onto the road, I smiled. "My kids, comedians" I said.
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