Neighborhood Watch



The Nancy Drews chasing me...
yes, in my usual outfit

 My neighbors thought I’d died. They banged on my door and loudly wondered why I wasn’t answering. Unfortunately there would be no dramatic story for the dust bunnies to tell at my funeral. In fact, I was very much alive and hiding under my second floor window, since I assumed they were burglars of the Golden Girls variety.

“Her car is still here,” I heard one say, like she was searching for survivors on the Titanic.

“Maybe she went to her parents’ house.”

“Look at all her shoes!”

These misbegotten Nancy Drews didn’t sound like robbers, so I finally opened the door. They smiled like I had been missing for years. I didn’t even know who they were.

Apparently, the daughter of my home’s previous owner had called to say that fire trucks were in the vicinity of “her mother’s” house. First, she didn’t even live in my city. Second, I’d lived in this house for two years. Her mother passed away a few years ago and her surviving children had sold me the house as part of the estate. Why was the daughter still watching my house?

“I saw that your security alarm was on,” the dust bunny said. “I saw it through your window so I thought you must be fine!”

How about my house was not engulfed in flames? Or that there was not a fire truck to be seen or heard? Cagney and Lacey meant well, but this wasn’t the only incident of me being blacklisted on Neighborhood Watch.

My 83-year-old neighbor said he looks through my window on his way to the mailbox. As if this is as natural as waving to someone you know at the food store. He even judged my home décor choices. However well-intentioned, and even though he may get a seniors discount, I am not a museum attraction. I am a 26-year-old living in the Smithsonian.

Some days I wish for that octogenarian bluntness. An anonymous AARP Gold Card member will tape hand-written citations on my recycle bin when I haven’t taken them in on time, even when others who do the same don’t get so much as a post-it on theirs. Someone told me my first day on the block, that, once I had changed from my romper into jeans and a shirt, I had “Finally put on some clothes.”

Neighborhood Watch is a slippery slope into profiling, as we are all too aware of today. On Feb. 26, George Zimmerman, a neighborhood watch volunteer, shot Trayvon Martin because he suspected wrongdoing. Martin was unarmed and not dangerous as he walked through the neighborhood wearing a hoodie and carrying a bag of Skittles. Zimmerman followed him even when 911 told him not to. Outraged Martin supporters, which include celebrities and politicians, are demanding Zimmerman’s long overdue arrest and a fair investigation.

Some even blame the fatal shooting on Martin’s appearance. Geraldo Rivera said the African-American teen’s hoodie contributed to his death. Photos of him wearing a wife beater, flashing his gold teeth, and sporting tattoos also circulated. Despite what Martin did or didn’t do in his life, it seems he didn’t harm Zimmerman.  New police footage shows that Zimmerman, who claimed Martin assaulted him, did not have any of the injuries. As far as we know now, Martin didn't “have it coming" as some want to believe.

Yes, I’m fifty years younger than most of my neighbors. I wear my husky boy's sized tank top and eat Cheddar Ruffles on power walks. That doesn’t mean I’m up to no good or should catch the ire of suspicion. While what the oldies are doing is wrong, I had to be the one to throw down an obstacle to their ogling. Now I have a lovely gold shade for that window. While I’m striving for privacy, I’m sure they’ll make something else up about me. Maybe playing a reclusive Grey Gardens-sque character wouldn’t be so bad. I’d finally be just like them.

Q: Do Your Neighbors Spy on You?