It has nothing to do with the flag.
It was about my personal meaning of it. The day I moved in, I hung it in front to make it feel a little more like home, not to draw attention to myself. New neighbours, a new street—everything is new. The outsider was me. Everyone was aware of it. You can sense that kind of stuff, even though no one said it.
I had a strange knot in my chest as I went outside and noticed that the pole was empty, save for the small plastic clip that was swaying in the wind. Yes, anger. Mostly, though, I was just dissatisfied. As if I had lost more than just cloth.
I didn’t even tell anyone about it.
However, I discovered a piece of notebook paper behind my doorstep the following morning. torn edges. Handwritten, somewhat sloppy. “I saw kids steal your U.S. flag,” it read.
You are the only white guy in this area, and I know it.
NOT ALL OF US ARE THE SAME.
COMBINE THIS WITH A NEW FLAG.
—NEIGHBORS
And the note was taped to it?
A twenty-dollar bill.
With that note in my hands, I sat on the stoop for a long time, unsure of how to feel. Thank you. humbled. observed.
However, the cashier gave me something with the receipt—smallly folded, nameless—when I eventually made my way to the corner store to pick up a replacement flag.
One more note.
“Don’t trust too quickly,” it said. Not everybody is good.
Compared to the earlier note, the handwriting was stiffer, almost irate. I stared at it, and my gut wrenched. What was meant by it? Was I being tampered with or warned? I was unable to tell. But for the time being, I chose to keep it to myself.
The days that followed were peaceful. With a mixture of pride and trepidation, I raised the new flag. During the day, the neighbourhood appeared to be rather normal—children playing basketball nearby, people taking their dogs for walks—but at night, something was off. Outside my house, automobile lights lingered longer than necessary and shadows moved in inappropriate places.
Then Thursday night arrived. I heard footsteps crunching through the gravel driveway while I was reading near the window. Through the blinds, I could make out an elderly man standing there, the faint porch light defining his form. He was wearing a flannel shirt with patches at the elbows and had a toolbox under one arm.
After a gentle knock, he exclaimed, “Hey, neighbour! Are you at home?
Carefully, I opened the door. Yes, hello. Am I able to assist you?
He grinned broadly. “My name is Walter. Last week, I moved into 412. I wanted to introduce myself. He glanced at the flagpole. Well done, that flag. makes the place more lively.
We spoke for a while, and he offered to help me with anything around the house since he used to be a carpenter. I thanked him and said I would take him up on it sometime since there was something sincere about him. But he halted as he turned to go.
“You hear a lot of trouble around here?” he enquired nonchalantly.
“Not really,” I told a lie. I paused and then said, “Why?”
Walter gave a shrug. I was just wondering. Sometimes people talk. Late at night, so the saying goes. Mostly children. Vandalism and small-time theft. It’s nothing big, yet it still makes you tense.
I remembered what he said long after he was gone. Who were these children? Is it the same group that stole my flag? And when others go out of their way to be helpful, why would someone advise me not to trust people?
As a little token of my concern for maintaining order, I made the decision to mow the grass on Saturday. I saw a boy sitting on the sidewalk across the street, observing me, halfway through. With his scruffy hair and two-size-too-large trainers, he appeared to be around twelve. He averted his gaze as soon as our eyes locked.
I picked up a few water bottles from inside after I was done with the garden work and went over. “Hey,” I said, extending one. Do you want this? The weather is scorching.
After hesitating, the boy gave a hesitant nod. “Thank you.”
“What’s your name?” I enquired.
He said, “Darius,” and twisted the bottle’s cap off.
“Well, my name is Ben, Darius. I’ve been here for a couple weeks. I’m still working everything out.
He looked from me to the flagpole and back again. “Are you upset about the flag?”
A beat skipped in my chest. “Have you noticed who took it?”
Darius avoided making eye contact and shrugged once more. “Perhaps.”
“Look,” I continued softly, “you can tell me if you know anything.” Don’t pass judgement.
I briefly feared that he might shut up entirely. Then he let out a sigh. Tyrell and Jamal were there. It didn’t mean nothing to them. Simply stupid child nonsense.
“Now, where is it?” I pushed.
“In the garage of Jamal.” He finds it amusing.
I nodded slowly as I tried to take it all in. “All right. I appreciate you telling me.
I contemplated my options that evening. I had the need to go to Jamal’s house and demand answers. Another part questioned whether facing them would merely exacerbate the situation. I ultimately decided to write a second note, this time to all three lads, and slip it under Jamal’s door alongside the second anonymous message I had received.
“To Tyrell, Jamal, and anybody else: Bring the flag back tomorrow if you want to show that you’re superior to this. I’ll understand if not. In any case, we’re neighbours, and I’m hoping we can work this out.
-Ben
It was raining steadily and grayly on Sunday morning. I thought nothing would change when I woke up. However, I noticed movement outside as I sipped my coffee at the window. After leaving something tied to the flagpole’s base, three figures scurried across the yard and vanished into the fog.
My old flag was carefully folded and covered with plastic to keep it dry when I walked outside to check. Another message, written in juvenile scribble, was placed on top:
Apologies for our error. We will not repeat it.
-Jamal, Tyrell, and Darius” I shook my head and laughed in spite of myself. Children. Never fail to be surprised when you least expect it.
Walter paid us an unexpected visit later that day. He grinned and continued, “Heard you had quite the adventure.” “Word spreads quickly.”
“How did you hear?” I enquired.
“Well, let’s assume I have my sources.” He gave a wink. Anyway, I’m glad everything went well. Forgiveness can sometimes go beyond punishment.
I recognised his correctness as he turned to go. The goal of this entire experience had been connection, not justice or retribution. about accepting one another for who we are, imperfections and all.
After several months, the neighbourhood no longer feels alien. Jamal’s mother once invited me over for supper, and Darius always waves when he sees me. Even the anonymous notes don’t seem so mysterious today; I think Walter may have been involved, encouraging me to be more understanding and patient.
The lesson was straightforward in the end: People aren’t always who they appear. Some will surprise you with mischief, while others will surprise you with kindness. However, most will rise to the occasion if you give them a chance.
Life Lesson: Trust must be earned; it is not blind. And sometimes the best way to create bridges is to show grace.
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