John who cursed lovingly at his children

Besides the Hickmans, who were only here for two weeks, John and his family were our first and only neighbors when we moved in.  John seemed nice enough—a little intimidating, but nice enough if you didn’t tick him off. And besides, doesn't everyone kind of want a neighbor like that?  He seemed to us like the patriarch of the fourplex, even though he was maybe in his thirties. He knew stuff. He’d been around for a while.  We always said that we felt pretty safe at our apartment, not the least reason being our certainty that if anyone ever came to try to give us all any trouble, John would probably beat their face in as soon as look at them. 

He had a couple of little boys, who were really pretty cute. Some days he would yell at them , just how he would probably yell at a dog or a stupid coworker.  “Hey! What the h#!! are you doing?? Get your little @$$ away from my truck!” He was a tough guy, but we could tell he liked them.  One day he bought them a trampoline, and he’d play on it with them, wrestling and tickling as they giggled and tackled him and then slipped away out of his reach. “hey, come here you little $h!!!s.”  He’d say. But they were used to it. They’d just giggle and jump on him again.

Ah, fatherhood. Heartwarming.