I had a neighbor named Mike Clements not long ago. It seemed like every time I pulled up to my house, Mike was outside across the street, just waiting to say hi. He doesn't wear his top teeth. I like the way his upper lip gets pulled down a bit when he smiles, which is often.

He is smallish. And balding. And his head is little and round, and his dark brown eyes stand out bright against the paler brown that is the rest of his face.

My husband and I live less than a mile from Duke University's West Campus. We have a tremendous mix of neighbors -- there are at least two gay couples, a number of academics, a large Hispanic population, black families with children, older white people living alone, convicted felons, future lawyers, vegetarians and everything in between -- all on a street that has about a dozen homes.

I loved to come home and have Mike shout from his porch, asking how my day was. I think, unfortunately, that there are many people out there who might pass up the chance to get to know a guy like Mike.

Durham, however, facilitates some relationships that could be passed over in other places because people might think they have too little in common -- on the surface, at least. It seems we all are so different in Durham, and yet our lives overlap here more due to the ever-changing neighborhoods and intertwined industries. The Bull City and the City of Medicine make strange, yet comfortable bedfellows.

Mike worked at American Tobacco for decades, and though he is only 56, he looks older despite his near-constant grin. He now helps his daughter deliver newspapers, starting the route around 1 a.m. and often working until dawn. As our neighbor, he was always offering to help. He helped my husband build the picnic table in our backyard. He offered countless times to fix our cars, even if we didn't think they were broken. Mike even made a doghouse for our neighbor's crazy dogs.

My husband and I are close to those neighbors with the crazy dogs; we gave them one of their crazy dogs. They are two graduate students. Both have studied at Duke University -- as does my husband, who is a law student. The four of us combined have four bachelor's degrees and two master's, with another master's, a Ph.D. and law degree in the works.

When we joined Mike at our neighbor's house for dinner a few months ago, he lamented not being as educated as the rest of us. He told us his daddy didn't make him study enough, that school wasn't important.

We assured him that he was smart, if not brilliant, but in other ways. He knew cars. He knew air-compressed tools. He knew how to work with his hands. He had the ability to make others feel at ease.

As the five of us shared a meal (Mike tried curry for the first time, I remember, as I tried homemade molasses for the first time when I ate dinner at his house), I was struck by how wonderfully diverse the table was. In addition to our mixed-educational pedigree, among us there were two-and-a-half white people, two black people, and half a latina spanning three decades in ag.

What amazes me is what kind of relationships you can forge by simply allowing yourself to get to know someone because they seem kind. After living in Durham close to two years, this town feels more eclectic than ever, and all the more open as a result. It's as if it would take more energy to ignore one another -- instead, we say hello and see what comes.

Mike had to move from our small street after just a year of being our neighbor. The house he was renting was falling apart, and the owner wanted more money than it was worth to buy it. We were all saddened when he had to leave.

He now lives near the public housing development Oxford Manor, but he calls us often to see how we are, and we are always planning our next visit.

I still have a neighbor named Mike Clements - he just lives a few miles away now.