Misunderstanding

A few weeks ago, I wrote about a neighbor who has a reputation for being on the curmedgeonly side, but, who, to my delight, has a new part time job that betrays a side of his personality that I’d never have guessed. With my new found information, I’ve been less inclined to think of him as irascible and more inclined to think his brusqueness is a mask for sensitivity. I had a chance to test that theory this past week.

A few days ago, the lad and I returned home from a jaunt somewhere. Driving up the street toward home, we approached this man’s home and I saw a grey squirrel sitting in the middle of the road. He sat on his hind legs, intently absorbed in something else. He didn’t hear me coming at all, so I tooted my car horn. The little squirrel turned his head to look and, after taking a split second to gather his thoughts, scampered to the side of the road. I continued on up the street.

“Uh-oh,” the lad said.

“What?”

“The grumpy guy was just starting to back out of his driveway and probably thinks you were honking at him. You’re in trouble now.”

“Nah,” I said. “Besides, what else was I supposed to do?”

But, it seems, he was a little hurt. Offended. Kind of upset to think that I’d honk at him when he already saw me and wasn’t planning to pull out in front of me. It wasn’t as if we haven’t played this scene dozens of times before.

After the first couple of snubs, I figured I’d better stop and let him know what happened. Yesterday afternoon I passed by and saw him in his front yard. I stopped in the middle of the street and rolled down my window.

“Hi,” I said. “Remember the other day when I honked my horn while you were backing out of your driveway?”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything. Nor did he smile.

“Well, there was a squirrel in the middle of the road. He had all his attention on you. I stopped and he still didn’t move. So I honked my horn and scared him half to death. I got to thinking you must have thought I was honking at you.”

“Why, the little bugger,” he said, with a smile breaking across his face. “I’d just hung the bird feeder and I’ll bet he was on his way over. They’re thick this year, aren’t they?”

And that was that. He waved and turned to walk away. But I saw the smile, too. I rolled up the window and continued on home.

This morning he waved and gave me a broad smile as I passed his new place of employment. I think we’re square again.