My Precious Little Babies

My Precious Little Babies

The year we moved to Look-Alike Lane was extremely stressful. There was an enormous pressure to conform. I remember the welcoming committee informing us that our blue Christmas lights would never do; the small white ones were the standard for the neighborhood. After careful consideration, I figured this wasn't such a bad idea. It gave continuity to the street and exposed our willingness to fit in. After overcoming this initial inconvenience, my family looked forward to our new life in our new home.

Several minor misunderstandings followed the decorating incident: school bus procedures, proper parking etiquette, and several subtle hints concerning the preferred dress code for children. My daughter's Gothic look was a bit jarring. I knew the phase would be fodder for family get-togethers, once Janet discarded the dark clothing for the next fad.

My wife, Lenny, and I both promoted freedom of expression and exploration. Believing this a certain path to intellectual pursuit, we gave our daughter plenty of leeway. So, after asking Janet to lighten her dark appearance, our daughter's disappointment shouldn't have surprised us. She was only ten.

Lenny and I began to rethink our move to Look-Alike Lane. Notwithstanding, we continued to smile, wave, and overlook our neighbors' intrusion of "sameness"-doing our best to cooperate, and at the same time make light of the increasingly uncomfortable situation.

Our invitation to the spring picnic--with a detailed list of what our contributions to the neighborhood extravaganza should be--was hand delivered by our garrulous next-door neighbor. Wilma Wright, who, in her own arduous way, went into a lengthy discourse on the importance of this social event, "I mean it, John, Lenny. This is a prime opportunity for newcomers. There's no second chance to make a first impression," she said at least four or five times. "Usually," she continued, without slowing for a breath, "several community leaders, and all the school board members attend. It's a chance to make inroads."

When Wilma Wright finally departed, and the door closed, she was still talking.

As the season changed, so did Janet's clothing. She traded in her gaudy jewelry and flowing cloak for a fringed leather jacket and bell-bottom jeans. An interest in gardening and all things natural replaced the dark, curious arts. My generation was making a comeback! Renewal and a hopeful feeling prevailed; I figured we had turned the corner and the painful adjustment period was ending with our neighbors. It felt good to be out in the yard cutting grass and landscaping our new domain.

"Dad, when you were in high school, did you belong to a peace organization?"

"Can't say that I did--but some of my friends and I went up on a hill one night and sang songs and prayed for peace."

Janet's eyes widened. "Cool! Who were some of your favorite musicians?"

"Hand me that shovel, hon. Well, let's see . . . I liked John Lennon. He was ahead of the times. Before it was fashionable for musicians to have these big benefit concerts, Lennon worked for peace, helped the poor, and spoke out on environmental issues."

Janet picked a dandelion and put it behind her ear. "Look, daddy, I'm a flower-child!"

"Remember, when you take up a cause, and make a stand, you have a responsibility to nurture what you believe in and not just take from it."

"You mean like you nurture me and mommy?'

We laughed and rolled in the grass. Lenny joined us and my world was complete. Our family. Our home. Our life.

****

"Wearing your loafers instead of gym shoes," Lenny said. "I thought you were through conforming. What would Emerson think?"

I knew my wife was referring to a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson--Whoseso would be a man must be a non-conformist. "No harm in looking nice," I said with a wink. "I think it's all going to work out. With the neighbors, ya know?"

Lenny snickered. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I noticed you mowed the yard on a diagonal, like everyone else."

I squirmed a little. "It looks nice all going in the same direction."

Lenny rolled her eyes. "Yesterday, I overheard Ron Wright telling you how to kill the dandelions. If I remember correctly, back when we were in college, you couldn't wait to have our own yard overflowing with dandelions. Did you know Janet is creating a photo album for a school project?"

"She didn't mention it."

"Well she is," Lenny said flatly. "It's entitled Dandelions Praying for Peace. She said you were her inspiration."

This was going to be a big deal, I thought, searching for a response. "It's no big deal, Lenny. Ron was just telling me how our street tries to win this community award every year, for the best-kept neighborhood. Tricks of the trade, ya know?"

"Like killing the dandelions?"

I bit my lip. "Come on. We're going to be late."



The Fulbrights' two-story home dominated the cul-de-sac. Edward was a lawyer and his wife, Joyce, ran an advertising agency. They welcomed us and made the introductions. After establishing the pecking order, Edward ushered the men outside to view to the perfectly landscaped lawn.

"Ron, here, says you work for social services."

"That's right," I said. "I'm a case worker. It's Fred, isn't it?"

"Yeah, Fred Barnes. I'm in the last house on the block, on the left."

"Wilma and I wanted that spot," Ron Wright said. "But Fred beat us to it. Hell of a yard."

"You don't have anything to be jealous of, Ron," Edward Fullbright said. "Your lawn is shaping up nicely. What do you think of our chances this year for first place?"

"I think this is our year," Ron said, nudging me in the ribs with his elbow. "I've informed our newcomers what to do with those pesky dandelions."

After chuckles, and some frothy chatter, our hostess, Joyce Fulbright, rang a bell and announced lunch. Everyone assembled in the huge, overly decorated screened-in porch. Fred Barnes raised his glass.

"I'd like to toast Edward and Joyce for another wonderful get-together. This is a great way to kick off spring. And, might I add, their lawn is looking spectacular. To the Fulbrights!"

Amidst the pretense and flattery, I heard Wilma Wright whisper to Lenny.
"Fred is president of the homebuilders association. His little girl died last year. Leukemia. She was about your daughter's age."

At that very moment, Janet and several girls--including the Fulbrights' daughter--came parading through the enclosure strewing flowers and singing Give Peace a Chance. Their heads were decorated with woven yellow braids. I saw the shocked look on the faces of our hosts.

"That's enough Janet," I said. "It's time for lunch, and we can't eat dandelions. Since everyone has seen our yard, I guess it's obvious where the children got those yellow goodies."

Ron Wright stood up. "That's only temporary, friends," he said. "I've explained to our new neighbors how to kill those dreadful things. Isn't that right, John?"

At this point, my daughter's hurt expression was all I saw. "He sure did," I said. "But I'm afraid I won't be killing any dandelions. They're only here for a little while and we should enjoy them while we can. I hope this doesn't cost us the neighborhood trophy."

Fred Barnes spoke up, "Listen, I've always felt uncomfortable about spraying those little things. I just didn't want to rock the boat."

Edward Fulbright tugged at his button-down collar. "Let's not get carried away. It's only common sense that we don't want our yards overrun with weeds. We'll sort this out later."

Fred Barnes laughed out loud. "Ya know--it might be neat to have a yellow wave of flowers decorating the neighborhood. It could be this year's theme for our Homearama. Hell, it would save the homebuilders' association a boatload of money on chemicals."

Everyone laughed.

The children began singing, Wilma was babbling in unison, and I watched Janet passing out dandelions to all our new neighbors. I had a real good feeling that everything was going to be all right. I'll tell ya this, I'll never spray. I love my precious little babies--each and every single one.

The End

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