The flag wasn’t the issue.
What it meant to me was the main focus. To feel a little more at home, I had hung it out front the day I moved in, not to draw attention to myself. New neighbours, new street, new everything. I was the stranger. It was known to all. Although no one expressed it, you can sense that kind of stuff.
When I went outside and saw that the pole was empty save for the small plastic clip that was flapping in the breeze, I felt a strange knot in my chest. Of course, anger. However, mainly, I’m just disappointed. It was as if I had lost more than cloth.
I kept it a secret from everyone.
But behind my doormat the following morning, I discovered a scrap of notebook paper. teary edges. Handwritten, a little sloppy. It read: “I saw children stealing your American flag.”
I am aware that you are the only white person in this area.
We are not all alike.
EXPAND YOUR FLAG WITH THIS.
-NEIGHBOURS
Moreover, was the note taped?
A slick twenty.
I was unsure of how to feel the paper while I sat on the stoop for a long time. thankful. modest. witnessed.
When I eventually made my way to the corner store to pick up a replacement flag, however, the cashier gave me something with the receipt—smallly folded and nameless.
An additional note.
This one said, “Don’t put your trust in me too soon. Nobody is perfect.
The handwriting was stiffer, almost angrier, than the earlier note. Staring at it made my stomach turn. What did that signify? Was someone trying to trick me or warn me? I couldn’t tell. However, I chose to keep it to myself for the time being.
The days that followed went by in silence. Feeling both proud and uneasy, I raised the new flag. At night, the neighbourhood felt different from what it seemed during the day, when people were walking their dogs and children were playing basketball down the block. Car lights stayed outside my house longer than required, and shadows shifted in unexpected places.
And then Thursday night. Just as I was reading at the window, I heard footsteps crunching on the gravel driveway. I noticed an elderly man standing there, his outline highlighted by the weak porch light, when I peered through the slats. He was wearing an elbow-patched flannel shirt and had a toolbox under one arm.
He knocked gently and then yelled, “Hey, neighbour! Are you home?
With caution, I opened the door. “Yes, hello. Can I assist you?
He gave a kind smile. Walter is his name. 412 was just moved into last week. I wanted to set myself up. He looked over at the flagpole. “Nice touch, flag.” adds some vitality to the space.
During our brief conversation, he revealed that he was formerly a carpenter and offered to help me with any household repairs. He seemed sincere, and I thanked him, promising to follow up with him later. However, he paused as he turned to go.
He said nonchalantly, “You hear much trouble ’round here?”
“Really,” I said, lying. I then paused before adding, “Why?”
Walter shrugged. “Just wondering. People do talk occasionally. According to some, things happen late at night. Children, mainly. Burglary and small-time theft. Nothing significant, but it still makes you tense.
He went, but his words stayed with me. These children were who? Had they been the ones who had stolen my flag? And why would someone advise me not to put my trust in people when others made a special effort to be kind?
When Saturday finally arrived, I made the tiny decision to mow the grass as a sign that I was concerned about maintaining order. About halfway through, I saw a boy observing me from the curb on the other side of the street. His shaggy hair and two-size-too-large trainers gave him a twelve-year-old appearance. He glanced away as soon as our eyes locked.
I went inside and got a couple of bottles of water after I was done with the garden work. I said, “Hey,” and held one out. “Want this? It’s scorching outside.
After hesitating, the boy timidly nodded. “I’m grateful.”
“What is your name?” “What?” I enquired.
“Darius,” he said, unscrewing the bottle’s cap.
“Well, I’m Ben, Darius. been residing here for a few weeks now. Still working things out.
He looked at me and then back at the flagpole. “Is the flag making you angry?”
It made my heart skip a beat. “Did you notice who stole it?”
Without making eye contact, Darius shrugged once more. “Perhaps.”
I said gently, “Look, you can tell me if you know anything.” No bias.
I was a little afraid he might shut up altogether. He sighed, though. It was Tyrell and Jamal. It wasn’t a meaningless statement. Just silly child things.
“Where is it right now?” I applied pressure.
“In the garage of Jamal. He finds it humorous.
I slowly nodded as I tried to take it all in. “All right. Thank you for informing me.
That evening, I contemplated my options. I wanted to march to Jamal’s house and demand answers, but I restrained myself. Another part of me questioned whether facing them would merely make matters worse. After some deliberation, I decided to write another note, this time to all three lads, and slip it under Jamal’s door alongside the second anonymous message I had received.
Please bring the flag back tomorrow, Tyrell, Jamal, and whoever else is left, if you wish to demonstrate your superiority over this. If not, I will comprehend. In any case, I hope we can work things out together because we are neighbours.
“Ben”
The rain was grey and persistent on Sunday morning. When I woke up, I thought nothing would change. However, while enjoying my coffee at the window, I saw some activity outside. Something was fastened to the base of the flagpole as three individuals scurried across the yard and vanished into the fog.
I discovered my old flag folded nicely and covered with plastic to keep it dry when I went outside to check. Above it was another letter, in childish handwriting:
Sorry about the mistake. We’ll never do that again.
I shook my head and laughed in spite of myself, saying, “Jamal, Tyrell, and Darius.” children. Always taking you by surprise when you least expect it.
Walter dropped by without warning later that day. “Heard you had a great adventure,” he grinned. “Word travels quickly.”
“How are you hearing?” “What?” I enquired.
“Well, I have my sources, let’s say.” He gave a tiny wink. In any case, I’m happy it went well. Forgiveness is sometimes more effective than punishment.
He was correct, I realised as he left. This entire experience had been about connection, not retaliation or justice. about accepting one another’s imperfections.
The neighbourhood feels less alien after a few months. Every time he sees me, Darius waves, and Jamal’s mother once invited me to supper. The anonymous notes also seem less enigmatic now; I believe Walter was involved, encouraging me to be more understanding and patient.
Ultimately, the message was straightforward: People aren’t always who they appear. Some will astonish you with their generosity, while others will do you harm. Most will, however, rise to the occasion if you offer them one.
Life Lesson: Earning trust is a necessary condition. And the best way to create bridges is sometimes to show grace.
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