Jerry was our cranky neighbor who lived just two houses away from us. He was the eldest son in their family, the father always away at work, the mom looked like she were a Liwayway character in the flesh: a stereo-typical cigarette-smoking, gin guzzling, mahjong fanatic who seemed to have forgotten that she had children to feed and raise; while the siblings went about their ways, unattended. Unfortunately, probably because of neglect, Jerry developed into a loony character, which frightened everybody in the neighborhood.
As kids, we’d play all over the neighborhood’s front lawns, sometimes near Jerry’s. The problem was that, on some occasions, he’d throw a fit for no apparent reason, maybe something caught his attention and got his ire, and he’d vent his irritation by pelting houses nearby or people within his viewing distance with rocks. For this reason, we steered clear of him at the first sign of trouble. We’d scram and scamper in all directions, while our parents boarded up the houses, closing windows in the hope that Jerry would calm down and the situation resolved without any broken windows.
Nang Elsa, however, had the unfortunate situation of living right next door to Jerry’s. I think her house had the most number of broken windows in the neighborhood, all thanks to Jerry.
One fine summer morning, Jerry was in one of his more subdued moods: he was taking a stroll, whistling and occasionally humming some folksy tune. Nang Elsa was also outside, cleaning the yard and doing some gardening. I was playing marbles with Andy, her eldest son, near Jerry’s house. Their AM radio was on, loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear, as the Fighter Wine jingle blared:
“Fighter wine, Oh Fighter Wine,
Let us buy, Fi-gh-ter, Wiiine”
This delighted Jerry no end, humming along, and almost dancing to the beat. Unfortunately, it ended, which frustrated him. He demanded that Nang Elsa play back Fighter Wine, because he loved it and wanted to sing it again. She tried to explain that it was impossible. He wasn’t convinced. He was getting insistent and angrier by the second, and increasingly turning livid with rage. I smelled trouble.
And then, the all-too-familiar scene: as if by instinct, he turned around to pick up a rock (gasp!).
Just before Nang Elsa could nervously run inside the house, I think it was Jerry’s father who intervened in the nick of time and prevented another stone-pelting episode (whew!).
As for me, Andy and I were preparing to climb an avocado tree nearby!
I do not know if he got straight-jacketed to an asylum. They moved elsewhere some time after that. I’m sure Nang Elsa’s prayers got answered.
As kids, we’d play all over the neighborhood’s front lawns, sometimes near Jerry’s. The problem was that, on some occasions, he’d throw a fit for no apparent reason, maybe something caught his attention and got his ire, and he’d vent his irritation by pelting houses nearby or people within his viewing distance with rocks. For this reason, we steered clear of him at the first sign of trouble. We’d scram and scamper in all directions, while our parents boarded up the houses, closing windows in the hope that Jerry would calm down and the situation resolved without any broken windows.
Nang Elsa, however, had the unfortunate situation of living right next door to Jerry’s. I think her house had the most number of broken windows in the neighborhood, all thanks to Jerry.
One fine summer morning, Jerry was in one of his more subdued moods: he was taking a stroll, whistling and occasionally humming some folksy tune. Nang Elsa was also outside, cleaning the yard and doing some gardening. I was playing marbles with Andy, her eldest son, near Jerry’s house. Their AM radio was on, loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear, as the Fighter Wine jingle blared:
“Fighter wine, Oh Fighter Wine,
Let us buy, Fi-gh-ter, Wiiine”
This delighted Jerry no end, humming along, and almost dancing to the beat. Unfortunately, it ended, which frustrated him. He demanded that Nang Elsa play back Fighter Wine, because he loved it and wanted to sing it again. She tried to explain that it was impossible. He wasn’t convinced. He was getting insistent and angrier by the second, and increasingly turning livid with rage. I smelled trouble.
And then, the all-too-familiar scene: as if by instinct, he turned around to pick up a rock (gasp!).
Just before Nang Elsa could nervously run inside the house, I think it was Jerry’s father who intervened in the nick of time and prevented another stone-pelting episode (whew!).
As for me, Andy and I were preparing to climb an avocado tree nearby!
I do not know if he got straight-jacketed to an asylum. They moved elsewhere some time after that. I’m sure Nang Elsa’s prayers got answered.
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