New Neighbors

On our little school campus there is a small courtyard of rooms with an interior yard and a gated front. As I biked over to our school office on Thursday morning I discovered that the school had smartly decided to rent out the courtyard for some extra income. Last time it was to a work unit of gardeners (our campus never looked better!). This time, it's housing a group of soldiers. How many? I can't tell. In talking with our school's security guards they estimated somewhere between 30 and 97. However many it is, it's enough that they need 5 giant trucks parked behind the dumpsters at night.

And the trucks are probably one of my favorite aspects of the new neighbors so far. They look like something out of a scene from Good Morning Vietnam - giant olive colored mechanical connestoga wagons of the army. How accidentally retro. What I haven't figured out about the neighbors yet is if they are friendly. I've tried making polite small talk a couple times, (Hi! I'm your neighbor! Where are you putting that basketball hoop? Bye!) but I lose my nerve quick and want to make sure I leave first before they tell me to go away.

Truck, soldiers, basketball hoop and more trucks.

I'd like to think they make me feel safer here on campus, but soldiers aren't really everyone's favorite citizen out here. In fact, their presence reminds me of that great transition in life where you don't feel like singing "Who are the people in your neighborhood?" anymore. Sesame Street and a lot of public schooling taught me that postmen, crossing guards, security guards, and yes, policemen are all my best friend and are here to help me. But at some point close to when you get a driver's license you don't feel so fondly about them. That tickle of excitement you get as a kid when you see a fire truck fades into a sinking dread of the Florida Highway Patrol car lurking on I-75. That same feeling has followed me here. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remember tying yellow ribbons on the fence at Ventura Elementary School to remember the troops over in the first Gulf War. Yet here the fog of history relating to the military leaves me unsure of whose side I'm on. Do these soldiers still have a place in that Sesame Street song or are they akin to the policeman that is now writing speeding tickets rather than helping me find a lost puppy? I'm not sure if I'll ever figure that one out, but in the meantime, their early morning drills are not doing much to endear them to me. And yet, for the next year on our campus, they will be "the people that I meet each day."