The Death of Mr. Happy

We moved into our house 19 years ago.  Before that, we lived in Novato, northwest Santa Rosa, and various parts of Petaluma.  Whatever. 

When we moved into the house where currently live 19 years ago, it was notably an "older, established" neighborhood (read:  boring old snobs).  OK.  I can deal with that. 

The problem was that they could not deal with us.  Enter Mr. Happy.  Mr. Happy lived behind us.  Mr. Happy was an older gentlemen obviously set in his ways.  He drove around in a white pick-up with a scowl on his face. 

Sorry, but there were signs of actual life at our house.  Kids' toys, laughter, water balloons, trampolines, dogs, cats, music, kids running around, etc.  None of it happened after 8:00 PM which is when bitcy=hy momma (me) called everybody in and it was quiet time.  I bribed them in with homemade popcorn.  I do have some respect for neighbors. 

What has this got to do with Mr. Happy???  I'm getting to that. 

When my son was younger he had a paintball gun as did all of his friends.  Our house was the natural magnet for congregating as we had tons of space and loads of privacy for them to do their thing.  OK.  So I had a bunch of boys in their early teens with paintball guns in my back yard.  They were having a blast.  Literally.

One paintball smacked the fence where Mr. Happy lived (behind us).  He yelled out some nasty comment.  Hey, I'm all for nasty comments.  Bring the comments ON, but BRING THEM TO MY FACE.  The paintball did not even explode on his side of the fence.  It was on OUR side.  More reason to BRING IT TO MY FACE.

Well, eventually we made peace with Mr. Happy.  He brought it to my face.  I'm OK with that.  At least he was man enough to do so.  Dispute settled.  All is well.  Peace out, Mr. Happy.  He eventually came around for evening cocktails or  to bullshit in the front yard. 

Mr. Happy stopped coming around.  I found out that he died. :(