Well, a little neighborhood drama found its way to our front yard.
It involved a sign, a camera, an unexpected midnight visitor, and a perfectly innocent landscape light that did not survive the encounter. I wrote this not to out anyone—small towns take care of that on their own—but as a reminder that sometimes the messiest stories come with the most unexpected grace.
It wasn’t just a yard sign.
It was a small gesture tied to a bigger issue—one that mattered to me, and to a lot of folks in the neighborhood. The kind of sign that says, “I’m paying attention,” without yelling. But apparently, even that was too much for somebody.
The first time my yard sign supporting a local cause went missing, I figured it was a fluke. Maybe the wind got feisty. Or a bored teenager with a Sharpie and too much time.
Second time, I started to wonder.
By the third, I set up a camera—channeling Gladys Kravitz. Mike, my spouse, became Abner, and that pretty much sums up our roles in this saga.
What I caught wasn’t exactly what I expected: a frail, older man—hunched, unsteady and staggering, moving like he'd argued with gravity and lost. Or maybe had one too many Harvey Wallbangers. Who knows?
He’d show up when it was dark, often past 10:30PM—and one time, at 1:30AM—pull the sign, and on one occasion, leaned in with enough frustration to knock over the landscape light too. A solid, metal fixture—not exactly the kind you trip over and ignore.
Found the sign once in a neighbor’s garbage can. Then the light joined it.
Turns out I wasn’t alone. A few other neighbors with similar signs had similar visits. So I filed a police report—not out of vengeance, just trying to stop whatever this was before someone got hurt.
I shared the videos of the sign-snatcher with friends, neighbors, and folks I knew at the local hangouts. This is still a small town, after all. Eventually, someone recognized him. No formal introductions, but I learned enough: recently widowed. Not quite himself these days.
And that complicated things.
Because once you know even a little, it’s hard to stay mad. Doesn’t excuse it. Doesn’t undo the broken light. But it does shift the weight of it.
Grief’s a strange passenger. Shows up late, makes a mess, doesn’t always knock.
I thought about some of the things I’ve done—things I wouldn’t want on camera. Unkind, unnecessary, often fueled by something I didn’t know how to name at the time.
So I paused.
Didn’t call again. Didn’t push it. Just put the sign back in the ground. Again.
Not because I’m noble.
Mostly because I’ve needed grace before—and I suspect I’ll need it again.
And maybe that’s something we all have in common.
Besides, the sign wasn’t the only thing that got uprooted.
Sometimes it’s your assumptions.
I wonder how many “vandals” in our lives are just people carrying invisible weight.
How many times we’ve mistaken someone’s worst moment for their whole story.