It's supposed to be 500 words, but I'm +76. Yep, I have some work to do.. Thanks in advance for anyone who can help me out!!
My neighbor was a cynical and predictable man, a scruffily-gray bearded man, his brown eyes shining from the hood of the beret he wore every day. A successful owner of an at home business, he often had a team of people that would come and help him remain organized. I remember him as a friendly man to all his neighbors, including the small children who often made the mistake of playing in his yard. Overall, he had seemed like a genial, ordinary man. Unfortunately, as I found out later, there was a second facet to my beloved neighbor.
The cries were heard mostly in the evening, just as everyone had begun to settle down to dinner, a direct response to the hundreds of insults hurled toward the son. The insults were of all kinds. “You’re worthless!” “Why can’t you do anything right?” he said. And if I peered through my bedroom window at just the right moment, I would see the son, Jack I think his name was, escape from the prison that was his home, cap pulled low to hide the purple bruises forming just below his eye. Later in the evening, I would watch as his employees left, stopping to turn back toward the light emitting from the open door to bid “Good night,” none as far as I could see, uttering a word about the abuse I was sure they had witnessed. I had always wondered why it was so. Was it for fear of losing their jobs? Fear of doing what’s right? Fear of standing out from the crowd? I never quite found out the reason, but at eight, what was I to do?
Little did I know, but Jack’s hero was already here in the form of a frail old man hunched over and tightly gripping his cane, but his sharp blue eyes sparkling with the mirth of a 20 yr. old. His name was Mr. Simon, but all the neighborhood kids knew him as “Grandpa,” as he was infamous for drawing out toys and gifts hidden within the pockets of his coat. That day went on as usual; however, there was a chill that went through the air, causing the trees to whisper about the events to come. w Late evening came and my neighbor’s accountants left, turning round to say their traditional goodbyes. However, this time, Mr. Simon stayed behind, leaning forward and dragging his cane across the rugged gray cobblestones in front of him. My neighbor stood at the door, arms roughly crossed in front of his chest, impatiently waiting for Mr. Simon to relay his thoughts. I watched from my bedroom window, straining to see yet not be seen as Mr. Simon lifted up his chin and began to discuss the abuse he had witnessed.
“I just think it’s wrong…”
“Your job is to take calls, not tell me how to raise my children!” my neighbor thundered, swiveling quickly and slamming the door soundly in Mr. Simon’s face, leaving Mr. Simon dejected as he sauntered, still holding tightly his cane, out of the neighborhood.
Sadly, we never heard from Mr. Simon again. His act of bravery had cost him his job, but had created a better relationship between my neighbor and his son. Mr. Simon’s actions taught me that we can’t fear the unknown; we can’t fear to stand up for right, because we may miss the chance to make an impact on the life of another.
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