Great Circle

Matt Heale has written for GC before. This is a welcome piece about (amongst other things) overcoming that “you have to choose” pressure we sometimes face when caught between two parties who are in dispute.

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Many of us have gone through our fair share of seeing neighbours come and go. Some we love and would hate to see move. Some we hate and would be glad to see move.

I’m digging into my past, ten years ago, to paint a picture of four families living on four properties - all connected together, my family included. I was a young teenager at the time.

My property was a “battle-axe” block, surrounded by seven  2/3rd acre blocks, placing me at the centre of the coming ”war”. On the one side was a family with one boy,  Marty, the other side, a family with three kids - we’ll call them the Canadians (which they were). On the opposite corner side, there was a family with four kids, I call them the Flintstones.

Now, my recollections of how it all unfolded are a bit hazy, but Marty and I had started and maintained a good friendship well before either of the other two families had moved in. I can still hear in my mind his famous method of calling out to me across the whole yard to get my attention during the early hours of the morning  in his pre-pubescent, girly voice: “Maaaaaaatttthhhhhheeeeewwwwww!!”

The Flintsones moved in. It was always interesting and exciting to see new people; the Flintstones were all around my age. Marty was a bit younger than me so my instinct was to meet these new people, with Marty in tow. The Flintstones seemed alright, friendly and welcoming, and it didn’t take long for a connection to develop between them and myself.

It wasn’t so much the case with Marty. He seemed to like them but lurked more in the background and as it turned out, they really didn’t approve of him and didn’t want him at their house. I was surprised and could not understand this - there was nothing wrong with him. Marty was a friend; I was not going to just leave him out.

Then the Canadians moved in. I was in no hurry to meet them; however, the Flinstones became quite friendly with them, consequently leading me to get to know them as well and they were quite OK. Marty seemed a little more interested in the Canadians as they were younger than the Flintstones. He must have met them without my help as I saw him over in their pool, as well as the Flinstones.

I started to feel a bit left out now.

A few days later, things changed, as they often do in social contexts. I was in the company of the Canadians and the Flintstones and it seemed neither party were very fond of Marty and in fact had decided they weren’t going to invite him over anymore, although I was still welcome.

I was not comfortable with this. It wasn’t my decision to make - it was their choice, but I felt I could be of influence. I had to tell them how I felt; I was not prepared to exclude Marty so I could go over to their house. I felt they were all ganging up on him.

They acknowledged my sentiment, but offered no solution. I didn’t know what to do. I felt sorry for him and couldn’t understand it. I wasn’t going to let these indifferences come between us.

Marty and I talked about the situation. He didn’t think much of the new people, understandably and suggested I should not talk to them. This was not going to work for me as I was keen to continue the friendship with the Flintstones as well as remain loyal to Marty. After discussing my feelings, Marty seemed to understand. I theorised that I was the only one who could decide who I should and should not be friends with and while I didn’t like the Flintstones and Canadians exclusionary tactics, I didn’t want to discard their friendship. I felt I had taken the moral “high ground” in this mess between all parties and it was here that I felt I won the war.

Over time it turned out that the friendships between me, the Flintstones and the Canadians didn’t last too long and Marty and I seemed to drift apart also. There was never bad blood, but the choice I made, the war I won, had casualties. No one was comfortable with my decision to be friendly towards everyone. Making my own choices, maintaining an openness to everyone - what I felt was the moral high ground - seemed to be above everyone else’s heads.

Looking back over the years, I question myself if I made the right choice and if I actually won the war. The war really was between my friends, but then again it was also between my heart and head and the decision I had to make. My head says I made the right choice - my heart too, but it still hurts a little that these friendships were sacrificed. Sixteen years were spent at that house and they are fond memories of a special place.

The weird thing is, since those days and the numerous houses I’ve lived in, I’ve never developed any friendships with neighbours. I think I would be a good neighbour and friend. But the possibility of more feuds, exclusion and the thought of more tough moral choices - reaching out, that could be the start of a whole new war.