A Real Spite Fence!

We used to have a “spite fence.” Yes...true! Well, my Mom and I did for many years at least.

In 1973, our “neighbors” behind us and our family shared an old 50's Leave it to Beaver, white open picket fence. It, by then, was about 14 years old and falling apart. My Dad, being the nice guy that he was, called up our neighbor to suggest that we both split the costs of a new, stockade style fence and that my my Dad would take care of all the details. Our neighbors would have to do none of the legwork but just provide a check once the job was complete.

Dad, taking this man at his word, hired a few carpenters and they installed the latest fashionable fence for the time. When my Dad called up our neighbor to ask for the money (and I was in the kitchen at the time during this) I heard my Dad time and time again try to remind our wonderful neighbor of his obligation. Our neighbor reneged on the deal claiming the fence was either “too high” or the “wrong” color. My Dad, realizing he was defeated, hung up.

You'd think a man of finance would've gotten a written agreement. Ah well. I can't blame Dad as you were supposed to “take the word” of your neighbors if they promised something. My Dad paid the bill by himself and never said another word.

Now, the story begins again in 1986. My Dad had been dead since 1977 and it was my Mom and just I living on that house. 1986 also had Hurricane Gloria come through and though it wasn't really a bad storm, it was windy enough to cause some damage. To our property, a fence panel had blown over.

I was out there the next day resetting it and realized the entire fence was weakened by years of that dry mold rot. The one section I was repairing was easily set back in place with a few planks and screws. As I was doing this, our wonderful neighbor comes out and was watching me fix it.

“You know, this fence is weak now, you can see where the wood's been eaten away by the rot” he tells me.

“Yeah, I know...whatcha gonna do about it” I say.

“Well” he goes on, “We could put up a new one.”

That's when I stood up and pointed at this bastard's face and said.

“No...YOU...are going to put up a new one...and PAY for it yourself!”

I left to go inside the house when my Mom had asked just what my yelling was all about. I tell her and then make her promise me NEVER to spend any money on the back fence, even if it fell down completely. She seemed to enjoy the idea.

To this day the fence still stands..or is tryng to.  To be honest, the antagonists are long since dead.  Perhaps we kids of said belligerents should bury the hatchet.

For a sometimes really left leaning, liberal commie pinko, I can have some sense of  venom!