Our years in the Navy have exposed us to our fair share of interesting neighbors. There was the guy in Navy housing who would haul our trash from our backyard to the curb every trash day and occasionally bring us a fish he’d speared from his kayak. Then there was the woman who lived with so many animals that the city of Norfolk mandated that she declare her household to be a farm and buy the requisite licenses. When she moved out, the ’snake charmers’ moved in; they bred snakes to sell on eBay. I wrote about my nice college student neighbors and how I felt like an old fuddy-duddy for calling the cops on them in my first ever column for Military Spouse way back in January.

Now that the school year is over, I’m dreading the looming summer weekends that will likely bring a new batch of weekend partiers every week. They come from New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, and Massachusetts, and they come to party.

Last summer I had to walk next door four or five times to ask that the music be turned down. Every time it was a different crowd, and every time they were nice about it, but that’s not the point. The point is that it was 2 A.M.

People should be asleep at 2 A.M.

We live in a town that’s a popular vacation spot. We knew that going into the deal, but I wasn’t prepared for the culture clash between the year-rounders on the street and the vacationers. One night in particular illustrates the difference:

After lying sleepless for over an hour, I finally drifted off to sleep only to be awakened again a short time later by Danielle, who hadn’t managed to get to sleep at all. She was barely hanging on to reason. I sensed extreme tiredness and adrenaline-induced edginess and decided to do something about the situation. So, still half-asleep, I put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and flipflops and walked next door.

Someone at the top of the stairs waved me up. He didn’t have a clue who I was, and he didn’t care. Upstairs I found a large room with a stereo in it and a table where people played beer pong. I tried to tell someone that I wasn’t there to party, but no one was listening. I finally got the attention of a random guest, and I told her I lived next door. My meaning gradually dawned on her. ‘Oh, you live next door. Like all the time.’ Yes, I said, and my wife is pregnant. She kindly went to turn the music down and pass on the message. Then the host of this summer soirée offered me a beer, which I politely declined.

See, they were on vacation, so they thought everyone must be on vacation.

Oh the joys of the military family’s nomadic lifestyle. I’m sure everyone has some good stories about the neighbors they’ve had over the years.