In 1970 we moved from mom’s parent’s farm house to her sisters’ house to stay with them for a while. We ended up being with them for about a year, too. This year had its regular fights with the cousins, routine catholic rosary nights, and its ongoing picking on at school. It brought in more fear, more inferior feelings, and more shame.
We never thought much about “the neighbor across the street” anymore. He was like a distant memory to the three of us. I’m not sure if mom thought about him much. I can’t imagine that she would have after him being the reason for dad leaving.