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A not-so-wise man once said， “A good neighbor is a fellow who smiles at you over the back fence， but doesn’t climb over it.” Maybe that’s the definition of a “good”neighbor， but if you want a “great” neighbor， you have to climb over the fence and into their welcoming arms. I believe getting to know your neighbors can deeply enrich your life.
My very first lesson in neighborliness came as a very young white child living in an entirely Mexican neighborhood. My parents had purchased their first home in a new 2）subdivision of East Los Angeles and we were the only non-3）Hispanic family on the block. Mom and Dad kept to themselves—leaving for work early and coming home late—which left my brother and I free to roam the neighborhood and fend for ourselves. No problem. We were immediately barefoot and running free with a dozen new playmates， who seemed not to notice our differences， even when we had the misfortune of turning beet red in the mid-day sun while they remained a beautiful golden brown.
Lunchtime came and went with my brother and I jealously watching all the kids run inside for some mysterious meal we instinctively knew was delicious. In the late afternoon， when I thought I might die from hunger， we heard a voice—an enchanting songstress who called out like a siren beckoning all children to come. We followed and arrived at her back door. Lola， two black braids down her back， arms long（and strong） enough to embrace us all—brown， white， whatever. There she was playing 4）patty cake with a homemade flour 5）tortilla， flipping them hot off the 6）griddle， 7）slathering them with butter， folding them in four and placing them piping hot in each of our 8）grubby little hands. Lola， wise and loving Lola， would become my second mother； wiping my face with her spit when I arrived dirty at her door， offering to help my mom with the housework when it was clear she was overwhelmed， teaching me to love 9）tamales， 10）frijoles， 11）fiestas and pretty much all things Mexican. But most importantly， she was the first to teach me to climb over the fence.
Later in life， my teenage years， now living in the shade of the Hollywood sign surrounded by Palm trees and celebrity sightings， I met my first 12）Bohemian. She was living right next door，and now I knew to knock and explore within. Her name was Juanita. A hundred 13）bangles on her arms， hair swooped up in a French 14）Chignon， multi-colored 15）muumuu swaying as she walked. Inside her incense-filled living room， I learned to love 16）Rachmaninoff and Browning， learned how to analyze and memorize， learned that， while my mother was unable to live up to her role， there would always be someone right next door waiting to fill her shoes. I must admit there were the years where I took that not-so-wise man’s advice. Poor and living penniless in low-income housing， I could hear the heartbreak of poverty bleeding through the walls. I laid low and refused to knock on the surrounding doors， afraid of what I might find within. Now looking back， I wish perhaps I had been brave enough to be the one who offered a helping hand.
Then there was the gaggle-of-girls-inrecovery I met living apartment life with babies 17）in tow and not a clue how to parent， as all of us had been parented poorly. These five women would become my friends for life as we reached across the fence and into each other’s hearts， sharing the pain of being raised by alcoholic parents and determining to raise our children right. We shared our 18）traumatic pasts and our extra diapers， and eventually healed our big-collective heart， remaining forever neighbors while we now live miles apart.
Dirt under her nails， sweat streaming down her face， and a bountiful basket of homegrown tomatoes offered to me over the fence. Now I live in a neighborhood where the 19）rule of thumb is， “Climb over and come on in.” My neighbor Marie made me realize that tomatoes don’t taste like Christmas ornaments， that， if you’re careful， a stick of butter can be tossed over a fence， that neighbors are the best choice for watching your cats while you’re away， and that dinner should always include a little extra taste for a hungry， and perhaps sometimes lonely， neighbor.
In the twilight of my life， with all too many of my relatives—my blood relations—gone， I find family wherever I can. Tonight I will walk with neighbors to a nearby restaurant to eat and chat about nothing and everything. Tomorrow a group of us will pile in cars and head out to see another neighbor’s artwork on display. We celebrate one another， we meddle in our lives， we consider cutting a hole in the fence to save the dozen steps it takes to walk around it. Climb over， walk through， do whatever it takes to embrace the riches living right next door.
一位未必是智者的人曾经说过：“一位好邻居是这么一个人：他隔着你家后院的篱笆对你微笑，但不会越篱而来。”也许这便是对于“好”邻居的定义，但如果你想要一位“佳”邻，那你就必须翻过篱笆，投入他们热情的怀抱。我相信，结识你的邻居能够大大地充实你的生活。
我最早的一堂关于邻里友好的人生课来自年幼时，作为一个白人小孩居住在一个纯墨西哥人社区的经历。我的父母在东洛杉矶的一片新住宅区购置了他们的第一所房子，而我们家是这个街区里唯一的非西班牙裔家庭。妈妈和爸爸不跟邻里来往——为工作早出晚归——留下我兄弟和我在邻里间闲逛，照管自己。没问题。我们立马就光着脚丫子，自由自在地与一打新玩伴一起四处奔跑，而他们似乎并没有发觉我们的不同之处，即便是在正午之时，我们会不幸地被阳光晒得浑身通红，而他们却依然保持着漂亮的金棕肤色。 午餐时间到了又过了，只剩下兄弟和我满心嫉妒地看着所有的孩子跑回家去享用一些神秘大餐，那些菜肴我们凭直觉就知道会美味非凡。到了下午晚些时候，当我觉得自己将要饿死时，我们听到了一个声音——一个迷人的歌姬像海妖赛壬一样召唤所有的孩子过去。我们跟随着声音来到她家后门。那是萝拉，身后垂着两根乌黑的大辫子，手臂长长的（还很强壮）足以拥抱住我们所有人——棕肤色的，白肤色的，无论什么肤色。她正在家中用自制的墨西哥薄饼做成小馅饼，在电煎锅上快速地翻转着，涂上厚厚的黄油，把它们折成四份，然后把新鲜热乎的馅饼放在我们每一双脏兮兮的小手上。萝拉，聪明又可爱的萝拉，都要成了我的第二母亲了；当我一身邋遢地来到她家门前时，她用口水擦净我的脸庞，当我妈妈显然是忙不过来时，萝拉帮助她做家务，教我爱上玉米粽、炒豆、狂欢节和差不多所有的墨西哥的东西。但最重要的是，她是第一个教会我翻过篱笆的人。
在之后的生活中，我的青少年时期，当时我住在好莱坞地标的影子下，周围遍地都是棕榈树和出没的名人。这时，我遇到人生中的第一个波希米亚人。她就住在我家隔壁，其时，我已明白该去敲敲门并登门探索了。她名叫胡安妮塔。她的手臂上戴着上百个手镯，头发挽成了法国髻，身上五色斑斓的穆穆袍随着她的行走而摇曳摆动。但在她熏香缭绕的客厅里，我爱上了拉赫玛尼诺夫的音乐和布朗宁的诗歌，学会了如何分析和记忆，学会了，当我的母亲无法履行她的职责时，总会有某个就住在隔壁的人待时而动暂代其位。
我必须承认，我也曾有几年听从了那位不那么明智的人的建议。家境穷困，身无分文地居住在贫民区里，我能够听到贫穷的哀伤渗透墙壁。我低调行事，拒绝敲门探问邻里，害怕自己会在里面发现什么。如今回想起来，我希望也许自己曾有足够的勇气，成为那个施以援手的人。
接着便是我带着孩子住在公寓，却毫无为人父母的经验（因为我们所有人的父母都挺差劲的）的时期。这期间，我遇到了一群正处于康复期的女孩子们。当我们跨越篱笆进入彼此内心，分担由酗酒的父母抚养长大而带来的伤痛，并决心以正确的方式养育自己的孩子时，这五名女子将成为我一生的朋友。我们分担彼此痛苦的过去，孩子们多余的尿布分着来用，最终治愈了我们这个大集体的心灵，尽管如今我们相隔数英里，却依然是永远的邻居。
她的指甲里还有泥土，脸上还流着汗，满满一大篮自家种的西红柿就那样越过篱笆递过来给了我。如今在我住的这片邻里，经验法则便是“翻过去，走进来”。我的邻居玛丽让我认识到，西红柿尝起来并不像圣诞节装饰，并且，如果你小心点的话，就能把一根黄油扔过篱笆的另一边，还有，当你外出时，邻居们会是帮你照看猫咪的最佳人选，晚餐则永远应该为一位饥饿的，也许有时是孤独的邻居额外准备一份。
踏入晚年，随着太多的亲人——我的血亲——过世，我走到哪里都能找到家庭的感觉。今晚，我将会和邻居们一起步行去附近的一家餐厅吃饭，漫天海侃，无所不谈。明天，我们一群人将挤进车里，前去观看另一位邻居的艺术品展出。我们为彼此庆祝，我们融入彼此的生活，我们考虑在篱笆上剪个洞以便省去为了绕过它而多走的十几步路。翻过去，走过去，竭其所能地拥抱就在隔壁的丰富人生吧。
My very first lesson in neighborliness came as a very young white child living in an entirely Mexican neighborhood. My parents had purchased their first home in a new 2）subdivision of East Los Angeles and we were the only non-3）Hispanic family on the block. Mom and Dad kept to themselves—leaving for work early and coming home late—which left my brother and I free to roam the neighborhood and fend for ourselves. No problem. We were immediately barefoot and running free with a dozen new playmates， who seemed not to notice our differences， even when we had the misfortune of turning beet red in the mid-day sun while they remained a beautiful golden brown.
Lunchtime came and went with my brother and I jealously watching all the kids run inside for some mysterious meal we instinctively knew was delicious. In the late afternoon， when I thought I might die from hunger， we heard a voice—an enchanting songstress who called out like a siren beckoning all children to come. We followed and arrived at her back door. Lola， two black braids down her back， arms long（and strong） enough to embrace us all—brown， white， whatever. There she was playing 4）patty cake with a homemade flour 5）tortilla， flipping them hot off the 6）griddle， 7）slathering them with butter， folding them in four and placing them piping hot in each of our 8）grubby little hands. Lola， wise and loving Lola， would become my second mother； wiping my face with her spit when I arrived dirty at her door， offering to help my mom with the housework when it was clear she was overwhelmed， teaching me to love 9）tamales， 10）frijoles， 11）fiestas and pretty much all things Mexican. But most importantly， she was the first to teach me to climb over the fence.
Later in life， my teenage years， now living in the shade of the Hollywood sign surrounded by Palm trees and celebrity sightings， I met my first 12）Bohemian. She was living right next door，and now I knew to knock and explore within. Her name was Juanita. A hundred 13）bangles on her arms， hair swooped up in a French 14）Chignon， multi-colored 15）muumuu swaying as she walked. Inside her incense-filled living room， I learned to love 16）Rachmaninoff and Browning， learned how to analyze and memorize， learned that， while my mother was unable to live up to her role， there would always be someone right next door waiting to fill her shoes. I must admit there were the years where I took that not-so-wise man’s advice. Poor and living penniless in low-income housing， I could hear the heartbreak of poverty bleeding through the walls. I laid low and refused to knock on the surrounding doors， afraid of what I might find within. Now looking back， I wish perhaps I had been brave enough to be the one who offered a helping hand.
Then there was the gaggle-of-girls-inrecovery I met living apartment life with babies 17）in tow and not a clue how to parent， as all of us had been parented poorly. These five women would become my friends for life as we reached across the fence and into each other’s hearts， sharing the pain of being raised by alcoholic parents and determining to raise our children right. We shared our 18）traumatic pasts and our extra diapers， and eventually healed our big-collective heart， remaining forever neighbors while we now live miles apart.
Dirt under her nails， sweat streaming down her face， and a bountiful basket of homegrown tomatoes offered to me over the fence. Now I live in a neighborhood where the 19）rule of thumb is， “Climb over and come on in.” My neighbor Marie made me realize that tomatoes don’t taste like Christmas ornaments， that， if you’re careful， a stick of butter can be tossed over a fence， that neighbors are the best choice for watching your cats while you’re away， and that dinner should always include a little extra taste for a hungry， and perhaps sometimes lonely， neighbor.
In the twilight of my life， with all too many of my relatives—my blood relations—gone， I find family wherever I can. Tonight I will walk with neighbors to a nearby restaurant to eat and chat about nothing and everything. Tomorrow a group of us will pile in cars and head out to see another neighbor’s artwork on display. We celebrate one another， we meddle in our lives， we consider cutting a hole in the fence to save the dozen steps it takes to walk around it. Climb over， walk through， do whatever it takes to embrace the riches living right next door.
一位未必是智者的人曾经说过：“一位好邻居是这么一个人：他隔着你家后院的篱笆对你微笑，但不会越篱而来。”也许这便是对于“好”邻居的定义，但如果你想要一位“佳”邻，那你就必须翻过篱笆，投入他们热情的怀抱。我相信，结识你的邻居能够大大地充实你的生活。
我最早的一堂关于邻里友好的人生课来自年幼时，作为一个白人小孩居住在一个纯墨西哥人社区的经历。我的父母在东洛杉矶的一片新住宅区购置了他们的第一所房子，而我们家是这个街区里唯一的非西班牙裔家庭。妈妈和爸爸不跟邻里来往——为工作早出晚归——留下我兄弟和我在邻里间闲逛，照管自己。没问题。我们立马就光着脚丫子，自由自在地与一打新玩伴一起四处奔跑，而他们似乎并没有发觉我们的不同之处，即便是在正午之时，我们会不幸地被阳光晒得浑身通红，而他们却依然保持着漂亮的金棕肤色。 午餐时间到了又过了，只剩下兄弟和我满心嫉妒地看着所有的孩子跑回家去享用一些神秘大餐，那些菜肴我们凭直觉就知道会美味非凡。到了下午晚些时候，当我觉得自己将要饿死时，我们听到了一个声音——一个迷人的歌姬像海妖赛壬一样召唤所有的孩子过去。我们跟随着声音来到她家后门。那是萝拉，身后垂着两根乌黑的大辫子，手臂长长的（还很强壮）足以拥抱住我们所有人——棕肤色的，白肤色的，无论什么肤色。她正在家中用自制的墨西哥薄饼做成小馅饼，在电煎锅上快速地翻转着，涂上厚厚的黄油，把它们折成四份，然后把新鲜热乎的馅饼放在我们每一双脏兮兮的小手上。萝拉，聪明又可爱的萝拉，都要成了我的第二母亲了；当我一身邋遢地来到她家门前时，她用口水擦净我的脸庞，当我妈妈显然是忙不过来时，萝拉帮助她做家务，教我爱上玉米粽、炒豆、狂欢节和差不多所有的墨西哥的东西。但最重要的是，她是第一个教会我翻过篱笆的人。
在之后的生活中，我的青少年时期，当时我住在好莱坞地标的影子下，周围遍地都是棕榈树和出没的名人。这时，我遇到人生中的第一个波希米亚人。她就住在我家隔壁，其时，我已明白该去敲敲门并登门探索了。她名叫胡安妮塔。她的手臂上戴着上百个手镯，头发挽成了法国髻，身上五色斑斓的穆穆袍随着她的行走而摇曳摆动。但在她熏香缭绕的客厅里，我爱上了拉赫玛尼诺夫的音乐和布朗宁的诗歌，学会了如何分析和记忆，学会了，当我的母亲无法履行她的职责时，总会有某个就住在隔壁的人待时而动暂代其位。
我必须承认，我也曾有几年听从了那位不那么明智的人的建议。家境穷困，身无分文地居住在贫民区里，我能够听到贫穷的哀伤渗透墙壁。我低调行事，拒绝敲门探问邻里，害怕自己会在里面发现什么。如今回想起来，我希望也许自己曾有足够的勇气，成为那个施以援手的人。
接着便是我带着孩子住在公寓，却毫无为人父母的经验（因为我们所有人的父母都挺差劲的）的时期。这期间，我遇到了一群正处于康复期的女孩子们。当我们跨越篱笆进入彼此内心，分担由酗酒的父母抚养长大而带来的伤痛，并决心以正确的方式养育自己的孩子时，这五名女子将成为我一生的朋友。我们分担彼此痛苦的过去，孩子们多余的尿布分着来用，最终治愈了我们这个大集体的心灵，尽管如今我们相隔数英里，却依然是永远的邻居。
她的指甲里还有泥土，脸上还流着汗，满满一大篮自家种的西红柿就那样越过篱笆递过来给了我。如今在我住的这片邻里，经验法则便是“翻过去，走进来”。我的邻居玛丽让我认识到，西红柿尝起来并不像圣诞节装饰，并且，如果你小心点的话，就能把一根黄油扔过篱笆的另一边，还有，当你外出时，邻居们会是帮你照看猫咪的最佳人选，晚餐则永远应该为一位饥饿的，也许有时是孤独的邻居额外准备一份。
踏入晚年，随着太多的亲人——我的血亲——过世，我走到哪里都能找到家庭的感觉。今晚，我将会和邻居们一起步行去附近的一家餐厅吃饭，漫天海侃，无所不谈。明天，我们一群人将挤进车里，前去观看另一位邻居的艺术品展出。我们为彼此庆祝，我们融入彼此的生活，我们考虑在篱笆上剪个洞以便省去为了绕过它而多走的十几步路。翻过去，走过去，竭其所能地拥抱就在隔壁的丰富人生吧。