You were always told to love your neighbor as yourself, but I recently learned that sometimes means loving your literal neighbor even when they’re losing it on your front porch.
If you’ve ever been yelled at or physically threatened by a stranger, then you’ll understand the stream of emotions I’m about to describe. But let’s go back.
It’s Labor Day weekend, Zach and I are visiting my brother and his wife in Denver, and we are having an incredible time. Their home is cozy with a perfect view of the mountains, their French press coffee maker is hard at work, and we spent most of our time on the porch enjoying these two things. Oh, and playing with the cutest little boy in the world, my new little nephew.
Does anything in that scenario sound disagreeable? Of course not, it was storybook.
So I’ll keep going.
My parents dropped their dog off while they vacationed to Tennessee. Bailey is an adorable pup. She’s big, droopy, and a sweetheart. The problem? She wasn’t potty trained this week, apparently. She went to the bathroom in the house 7 times during the 4 days we were there. The solution? Keep her outside.
Bailey enjoyed being outside, but she couldn’t help but run away (as fast as she could). So she was leashed to a post- it was a long leash, calm down. The result? Barking all the time.
We literally could not win. And neither could their neighbor.
I answered the knock at the door while my sister-in-law was putting the baby to sleep and my brother was showering. A disgruntled neighbor greeted me.
Our barking dog was keeping his children from enjoying their swimming pool, his wife from sleeping, and his family from enjoying their holiday. Oy vey.
How could I possibly respond to this infuriated man whose entire weekend was ruined by the dog? I told him to wait while I got my brother.
After minutes of no response from my bathing sibling, I decided to tell the man that I would send my brother over to fix it. But as soon as I opened the door I was told not to worry about it, he was calling the cops. “Sir, I’m sorry, my brother will…” My apology had struck a nerve. The man was yelling and throwing his hands in the air. I stood there listening as not to be rude (really), and at the end of his rant, realized a smirk had overcome my face. I was in disbelief at this grown man’s behavior, and my face showed it. Despite my telling him the homeowner would be over to speak to him soon, he wasn’t satisfied. He stormed away, and I shut the door feeling only disbelief.
One minute later there was another knock.
I opened the door to complete rage. He was screaming and cursing at me (the little sister from Texas) mercilessly. Once Zach heard what was going on, he came to my rescue. The door swung open and the man stepped back. He was not going to speak to me that way according to my husband.
It was as attractive as it sounds.
He made it clear that the man was wrong for treating me the way that he did, and that he was sorry about the dog. Minutes later my brother joined the conversation.
I had never been treated that way by anyone in my life, let alone a stranger. My shock turned to confusion, and my confusion became anger. Why would a grown man treat a 23-year-old girl like that?
I was upset for a solid half hour. Really, really upset. But I learned two incredibly valuable things that evening- my husband is my hero, and I can’t let one infuriated stranger ruin my vacation.
The coffee continued flowing the next morning, and the mountains didn’t move from our sight. But something that did change… I saw Zach in a very different way. If marriage is full of these moments, I’m glad that I signed up.
The beautiful view from my brother’s back porch. Oh, Colorado.
At age 27, 2 years after I was married, I discovered the protective side of my wonderful husband. Chris and I had just moved to South Korea in 1996 while I was teaching English here. We ended up with two American roommates in our “foreign” dormitory. It wasn’t an ideal situation, because who wants roommates after they get married? However, one of our roommates was like family, Frank Kinikin: a former screen writer, musician, and all around good guy. He actually remembered Touch, your dad’s old 70s band, and had been to a few of their shows. Our other roommate, Dan (not his real name), was the rejected former lead singer for a 90s band, that was fairly famous back then. Dan was one of those guys who was running away from home and was then was finding that the problems that he hoped to leave behind (alcoholism, poor self-esteem, rage issues, heavy self-entitlement) were still following him. He didn’t know that he had all those issues. He assumed everyone else was the jerk, and he was being treated unfairly.
One night many of our fellow teachers went out to a Norebang, which is a Korean Karaoke singing room but where you don’t have to sing in front of a whole nightclub, just your friends. They serve beer and snacks and you just goof off with everyone. Dan who was a professional singer before he was kicked out of his band was furious with me all night because I had sung better than him. I was also a lot less drunk and come from a family full of musicians. Dan and I didn’t get along well in part because we forced to live together as roomates with very little in common and in part because I had some small authority in the school to help the non-Korean staff with settling in, learning their duties, etc. That night after Karaoke was the last straw though. He was venting at how difficult his life was to a group full of us who were not sure how to take it. I said something like, “have you considered that maybe it’s a matter of perspective.” I admit I called into question his perspective in part to help him, but also in part to remind him that he was actually causing people to want to leave our work social gathering because he domineered the conversation.
Dan went absolutely insane. He got out of his seat and started screaming at me inches from my face. Frank, our other roommate, could not allow a woman to be treated like this: more importantly, a woman who he thought of as family. Frank got up and in between us. He lightly slapped Dan to keep him from becoming violent with me. Dan started to fight with Frank, who was not a fighter. I ran upstairs to our dormitory floor and got Chris who had been sleeping most of the night. He wasn’t that into Karaoke so he’d skipped out.
By the time we got downstairs, poor Frank was on the ground arms covering his face as Dan kicked and hit him. Chris had army training and some medieval martial arts training even before that. He went down and started calling Dan’s name. Dan seeing my husband, had a fresh target for his anger and decided to continually call me a b____ and then railed about how unfair I’d been to him in my role as head teacher. I didn’t have any authority over his schedule, nor any contact with him except at home, so this was coming out of his paranoid mind. Chris kept his cool. He didn’t say much. What he did manage to do was talk calmly while Dan threw out his jaw to be hit. Chris never did. He simply kept him at a distance and circled him in a very confident way. Dan would lunge at him and Chris push him back using forearms and elbows, away from the growing crowd. We had 15 teachers at the school who were all seeing this mess. Chris never allowed Dan to get under his skin, nor was violent with him. Dan eventually got frustrated with Chris’ lack of response and stormed off.
I have never been more proud of Chris my whole life. He not only protected me, but Frank, and he did so in a surprisingly non-violent way. It completely changed how I saw him, not unlike your story about how you saw Zack differently.
(Your cousin, Kam)
Wow Kammy! That sounds like that would’ve been awful to experience! I get so excited when men know how to be “men” which doesn’t actually involve fighting at all. I hope Dan has gotten himself together since this ordeal!
Kammy, that is a really neat story. I’ve always loved Chris, but this story definitely adds to that! I also had no idea he had any army or martial arts training!
Jade, it’s been nearly 20 years, so maybe. I will never know. But Frank, passed in 2010 after a full and amazing life. I wish we had kept in touch.