Hello, Neighbor!

A few nights ago, my roommates and I were sitting out on our front porch enjoying the unusually cool August weather. We quietly watched as a large white conversion van attempted to maneuver out of a driveway across the street and scraped up against a car parked in the road. It was one of those situations when in order to get out of the already bad situation you're in, you have to do even more damage first. So we listened to the sound of metal on metal as the van inched forwards, then inched backwards, and then came clear on the third try. It was painful to watch. We waited for the driver to hop out, assess the damage, and leave a note.

...Nothing.

We decided to give the benefit of the doubt, hopeful that the van driver's conscience would eventually get the best of him.

That was before Saturday night, when we watched the same van back out of the same driveway and ram into another helpless victim parked on the street during our friend's bachelor party dinner. This time, a couple of my roommates decided to take some action. They calmly walked across the street to confront the driver: 350-plus pounds of African American man.

I'll spare you the details of what was said (yelled, really) by our neighbor, but it was not pleasant. Cooler heads prevailed, the police were called (still waiting for them to show up...) and my roommates walked back across the street to rejoin the BBQ. There was another failed attempt to communicate about 15 minutes later. Finally, we all retreated to the back yard, convinced that this was going nowhere. Besides, we were here to celebrate with our friend, not argue with our neighbor.

Another 15 minutes went by, and we all stood at arms as our neighbor-turned-nemesis hustled across the street and made his way up the driveway into our back yard. By this time, there could only be one reason for this bold move. This guy was big, but we had numbers.

Then it happened.

He stopped, looked at us, and said "Guys, I'm sorry. I'm having a really rough day. I know you were just trying to help, and I don't want to cause any trouble." He shook our hands, specifically pointed out one friend with whom he had had most of his exchange with and said "I'm sorry for what I said to you".

We were floored. Here was a real man. Yes, things were tense. Yes, we were angry and ready to dismiss this foolish man who didn't want to have a civilized interaction or own up to his mistakes. And then, against all odds, he apologized. And this was a REAL apology. It was not the kind where someone says "I'm sorry you feel that way", but the kind where someone says "I was wrong. I hurt you." We spent the next few minutes in sheer admiration of this neighbor-turned-nemesis-turned-neighbor.

I love moments like Saturday night: moments when against all odds, when things seem totally hopeless, a new reality breaks through. There is something so raw about those moments, like our hearts are not used to experiencing something so good and right. After all, why should any of us expect someone to apologize? What is it that can bring a proud, large-and-in-charge man to walk across that street and into a group of 12 young men and take ownership for his actions and words?

Perhaps more importantly, why don't I recognize these moments more often?