By Ray DeTournay

October 26, 2009
In a man's lifetime, he finds he has little influence over two important things: growing older and choosing his neighbors. Usually these two items run separately, but on occasion they come together in unexpected ways. A little more than a year ago, my wife and I were in one of those situations.

We were in a local sports arena standing at the edge of the crowd when a security guard came over.

"Sir," he said, "no offense, but do you know where you are?"

"Sure," I said. "I'm at the Forum."

"And do you know what's happening here?" he asked.

"A concert by Nine Inch Nails."

He nodded, as if I had just passed a test.

"No disrespect, sir," he said, "but what are you doing here?"

I got his drift. My wife and I didn't quite fit the audience profile. She was wearing a plaid blouse and a denim skirt; I had on a Beijing Philharmonic Orchestra T-shirt. Pretty much everyone else was wearing black and was easily 30 years younger than we were.

"I have a pass," I said, showing my wristband.

"Where did you get that?" he asked.

"We are invited guests." I was getting a little defensive. "The lead guitarist is my neighbor. He wants us to see what he does for a living."

The guard's eyes grew wide. "No way!" he said. a

His reaction was exactly how I'd felt some years earlier when the agent removed the "For Sale" sign from the house with which we share a driveway. On paper, the previous neighbors had seemed like a great fit. He was in law enforcement, and she worked for a public utility; still, they turned out to be the neighbors from hell. When they decided to sell, we were overjoyed but apprehensive. I asked what we were in for next.

"Oh, you'll just love them," the agent said. "They're great kids."

Kids, I thought. How can kids afford to buy in an upscale neighborhood? "The gal is just great and so pretty," she enthused. "She was an aerialist with Cirque du Soleil."

OK, a trapeze artist doesn't sound too bad. "What about the guy," I asked.

"Oh, he's so sweet. You're just gonna love him."

"But what does he do for a living?"

"He plays a musical instrument in a group," she said, eyeing her car nervously.