Unless you’ve lived your entire life in The Hamptons or in the hills of Tennessee, you’ve probably been exposed to some kind of racial and cultural diversity. In my case, I’ve been around other nationalities and other cultures since the day I was born. I even had a Turkish friend once (anyone that knows about the not so good relations between the Greeks and the Turks will understand that joke)
Anyway, back to my neighbors, the Mexicans. Nicest people on the block. From the day I moved in they’ve been nothing but pleasant, inviting me to family events they host and Juan (the breadwinner working at Rockford towing service) helping me out on some outside projects all the time. One of his sons just got back from spending some time in the army, and the wife runs some kind of daycare – I see kids being dropped-off every morning. I guess they run it kinda “hush hush” and in the down low, cause they never talk about it and don’t have any signs, but every morning their driveway becomes a parade of little Mexican kids going into the house.
The whole point of my story has to do with the bell they have on the side of their house, by the garage door. I’m not talking about a bell you use to call the butler to the table… I’m talking a freaking cast iron, half ton freaking bell like the kind you find at the steeple of the church type bell…
Kinda cool, though: on summer evenings, when I suppose dinner is ready or they figured the kids had enough fun already, they will ring the bell a couple times. Within seconds, a swarm of Mexican kids start running back home as if any kind of delay will prevent them from having a seat at the table or something. A sense of family life that makes me think of what life was like for the majority of Americans back in the 60s or 70s. Kudos, Mexican family next door for keeping it real, fun and family oriented.