I was awakened this morning at 4:30am by two familiar sounds, or as familiar as any sound can be in the vague hours approaching dawn (which reminds me of a question I’ve often pondered: at what point in the wee hours does “late night� turn into “early morning�?) – the sounds of a songbird and my neighbors arguing.

An American Robin (it might have been a Mockingbird imitating the sound of a Robin for all I know; they’ve been known to “mockâ€? before) greeted the pre-dawn sky with swirling musical repetitions, albeit a tad too close to our bedroom window. I can handle this type of disruption, for though its timing was lamentable, its tone was at least natural. The sound of arguing neighbors, however, is not no matter the hour, especially while the rest of the block is fast asleep. The escalating voices of my next-door neighbors’ squabbling in their front yard, and the ridiculously loud rumble of his Harley – another disdainful topic altogether – was enough to rouse me from contented slumber for the remainder of the morning. Arguing over God knows what, for who knows how long, for the umpteenth time since we moved into this house a little over a year ago, I pondered whether or not to finally call the cops in a civil effort to curtail their disturbing of the peace.

Our bedroom sits in the northeast corner of our house adjacent to theirs. To say that we are weary of being woken by either the motorcycle, their car racing hobby or the arguments is a bloated understatement. I’ve been awakened previous mornings by that very same bird, but I can make no grievance against it for it’s doing what it was born to do. But the lack of noise-constraining mufflers and lack of consideration for one’s neighbors, I do protest. In my “let’s not exacerbate the situation�, mind-my-own-business mentality, I’ve not dialed the police in the past though I suppose I’ve had every right to do so. Whenever I hear a man raise his growled, angry voice at a woman, and oftentimes his children, I fear that a police presence would only frustrate the matter especially knowing this particular man’s health situation. The pitiable wife I’m sure doesn’t want to see her husband wheeled away (again) in a squad car amid flashing lights, badges and holstered guns. But neither do I pretend that she enjoys being yelled at in her front lawn in the middle of the night by a man who swore to defend her in the first place. It will never be a natural sound.

And then I considered their three children, inside, lucky to be asleep if at all. I imagined them there in their soft beds, the sheets pulled over their heads to dampen the noise, tears on their pillows, wishing, hoping, praying that this occurrence would end peacefully and soon. It made me ache for them, to feel trapped both inside their beds and inside their skin. You see, I was that kid, afraid that my own parents would one day decide they no longer loved or liked each other and would dissolve their institution. I remember that fear as plain as the aftertaste of garlic. I remember walking on pins and needles. I was the peacemaker in the family and, looking back, it was more than my sense of responsibility as the eldest of three kids; it was a burden that I carried around for years. If there were any amount of psychological schooling in me, I would guess that this probably goes a long way in explaining my distaste for arguing for the sake of arguing and noise for the sake of being loud. I’m a quiet person, I wish it were a quiet world.

There is certainly no one to blame; neither my parents – for they always stuck it out and figured how to love one another despite temporary disruptions – nor my neighbors – for love looks different to many folks in many walks of life. If blame were passed, and it always is, the arrow would point squarely to a world long-ago deceived into thinking it’s figured out a way to beat God at his own game. Peace and quiet, you see, are powerful portals to listening and hearing: God, conscience, heart. But listening and hearing are also purportedly bad company, for they take our eyes and minds off daily “burdensâ€?, and we instead revert to cleverly disguised distractions and sedation. In the process, the world gets noisy and peace is put out to pasture like a used mule. I suppose I’m a fool for believing it, this gospel of peace; a damned fool for valuing tranquility as much as I do. It’s a setup for disappointment I realize, but one I hope, in the end when the dawn smiles for the last time, will be a mere preamble to the good and everlasting peace, the one we’ve managed to make a complete mockery of. Come now, Blessed Usurper and bring peace that surpasses all our understanding.