I suppose everyone has their own “crazy neighbor” stories. I have decided, however, that my neighbor is truly, off-his-nut, crazy.

We just moved in to our new place last November, and during the house-building process, we got to know the people who would be living on either side of our new house. There was Becky on one side and “the Old Guy” on the other. I know, I shouldn’t say “old guy” but thats what all the kids call him, and I’m afraid it stuck, since I can’t remember his real name. Both Becky and the Old Guy seemed very nice and pleasant, and we were happy that they were our neighbors.

Trouble came after we moved in. The Old Guy has a driveway that is 2-cars wide. On one side, he had set up four orange cones. Well, one day, Aaron had a friend over, and, kids being kids, the friend picked up one of the cones and started using it as a megaphone (what kid can resist using an orange cone as a megaphone?). Well, the Old Guy came out and said something like “Hey, yer stealin’ my cones! Try that again, and I’ll kick your ass you little shit!”

I was a bit shocked by the vehemence that he directed at Aaron’s friend, but I always give people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just having a bad day. Maybe he just didn’t like kids. Maybe he lost a lot of cones to kids in his life. I don’t know.

A few weeks later, after his cones got knocked over a few times (not by my kids, I don’t think) he removed the cones and set up a long wooden bar across half of his driveway, mounted on top of two five-gallon pails. Curiously, I asked our other neighbor, Becky, what was up with the Old Guy blocking off half of his driveway. She said “He doesn’t like people parking in his driveway.”

Quirky? Sure. But not exactly crazy. . . not yet. . .

A couple of days ago, we had a utility truck parked in front of our driveway, blocking off all exits or entrances. A friend of ours came by to drop off his son so Aaron could play with him. With no place to park, he parked in front of the Old Guy’s driveway. Well, not really parking, he was just dropping off his son, and left his car so he could help carry his stuff into our house. The Old Guy, who was out snow-blowing someone else’s driveway, came stomping over.

“You can’t park there!” He hollared out.

Our friend replied, “Oh, I was just dropping my son off. Sorry, I didn’t mean to block your driveway.”

“If you park there again,” the Old Guy said, “You’re gonna drive away with a couple of flat tires!”

The next day, the Old Guy no longer had half of his driveway blocked off. He had the WHOLE DRIVEWAY blocked off. A wooden barrier extending from one end of his driveway to the other blocked the path of any car that would park there. In order to leave, he has to move the barrier out of the way so he can get his car out.

Fast-forward to this Spring. Barbed wire stretches across the length of the Old Guy’s driveway. He sits outside in a rocking chair, a shotgun cradled in his arm. Occasionally he shouts out “Ye best stay outta my driveway, ye little shits!” to nobody in particular. He sits. He watches. His driveway is finally safe.

Oy!