When we bought our house in Napier, the first question I asked of a neighbour before viewing it was, ‘Is this a quiet neighbourhood?’ She assured me it was, as did some other neighbours. And, once we had moved in, it was true. No yelling, screaming, parties, boy racers, or loud music. There was a real sense of safety.
And then ‘the others’ moved in.
A teenage mother with a three year old son and a penchant for boys wearing hoodies and baggy jeans down to their knees. Boys who talk rough, and hang out with older boys who drive souped up cars with very large exhaust pipes. A penchant for people who like to stay up partying until 3.00 am and who sleep until 1.00 pm.
We didn’t mind the first time. After all, they had just moved in, and a little party was in order. We could cope. Then, the parties started coming twice a week, and car doors started slamming. Tires squealed, fights broke out in the street, and hooded boys in slouchy pants shuffled up and down the street yelling obscenities at one another.
The third time one of the parties woke me, I was angry. My rights to an uninterrupted night’s sleep had been violated. I lay in bed listening to the pulsating of the music and thought, ‘We have to get them out of the neighbourhood.’ I also thought about dark things. The elderly couple living closest to the girl’s house knows the landlord’s telephone number. Turns out she is also the mother of the girl who lives in the house. I fantasized about calling her at 3.00 am to let her know what was going on at her property, and every half hour until it stopped.
Instead, we called noise patrol. They went out, but that didn’t stop a new party the next week.
For one week there was total silence. Turns out their stereo equipment was stolen, but the boys still came. At 2.00 pm, 5.00 pm, midnight, 2.00 am, 3.00 am, 4.00 am. They sat on the deck talking and laughing, and the sound of their voices carried better than the music. Cars came and went as if a parking mall was in operation. Our other next door neighbours added to the noise by screaming obscenities at the partiers. They came over by day and bitched and moaned.
Finally, after a particularly bad night in which none of us slept, causing Michelle to have to leave for work in a sleep deprived daze, I decided to call the girl’s landlord / mother. Enough is enough.
I asked myself what my response as a Christian should be, and how I should handle it. I’m the mother of an adult, and I know that after some point, we are not responsible for our children’s behaviour, and I wasn’t going to abuse her for the sins of her daughter, nor did I intend to vilify the girl.
I decided to phone the mother in the light of day and talk sensibly with her. She listened. Finally, she called her daughter who asked, ‘Why didn’t she come to me first?’ Her attempt at diverting anger, or a real complaint about the way things got done? I thought about it. I thought about the scriptures that tell us to approach our brother first if we have a grievance. Well, I had a grievance. I decided to text the girl and ask if we could meet. I didn’t want to come on as some self-righteous fuddy duddy, or as a parent, or as a judge. I wanted to meet with her as an adult, and in a way that would build a bridge and encourage communication. I wanted to come at the situation in the opposite spirit of some of the neighbours, and in an opposite spirit to the behaviour of this girl’s guests.
We met on her deck. I took over a couple of beers and laid it out straight for her. She laid it out straight for me. We agreed that if the noise was loud, I’d text her first and give her the chance to set it right. It was a civil conversation.
Two nights later, all hell broke loose. Drunken boys staggering down the road, cars slamming doors, and the next door neighbours calling noise patrol and the girl’s mother at 1.30 and 2.30 am. The girl’s friends decided they should avenge her, so they backed their high performance cars up to our driveway and revved and revved. They barked at the neighbour’s house, either a sign that they were part of the Mongrel Mob, a gang in New Zealand, or that they thought the nieighbour was a bitch. It could have been either.
I was awakened at 7.30 the next morning by an angry phone call. The neighbour was bitter. The cars revving were the only things I had heard. I’d missed the other stuff. I texted the girl saying that I hadn’t heard much the night before, but would she please tell her friends not to back up to my driveway and rev their car engines? She apologised. Said she didn’t know. I’m sure she didn’t. Which is the issue. She can’t control the people who come to her home.
When this started, I told my husband and daughter that I am determined to treat this girl with respect, honesty and love, because I believe she deserves it. I want her to see how adults do it, and, maybe, model for her social responsibility.
Today I got a text from her asking if we would come to dinner with her and her roomate. I can’t, but I know Michelle and Brian will. It’s a beginning. Brian and Mich will make sure our house is locked so we aren’t burgled by her friends when they’re over having dinner, and I do hope ‘the gang’ doesn’t come in when they’re over there eating, but I’m trusting that this is an attempt by this girl at making a relationship, or at least trying to do something right.
Where will this lead? I have no idea. We’ll still do what we have to do, but we’re going to do it with as much integrity as we can muster.
Watch this space.


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