For months, I thought I lived next to the perfect kids—Becky and Sam. Every Sunday morning, they were out cleaning the street, sweeping sidewalks, and picking up trash. As a woman in my 60s, I’d seen a lot in this neighborhood, but watching two teenagers spend their weekends doing community service made me feel hopeful about the younger generation. I’d even complimented their mother, Grace, about how thoughtful they were. She seemed surprised but thanked me with a polite smile.
Each Sunday, I would sit by my window with my tea and watch them work. They reminded me of my own kids before they grew up and moved away. I once offered them lemonade, but they declined, saying they had “things to finish up.” I admired their dedication, thinking these kids were truly exceptional.
But last Sunday, something strange happened. I was watching as usual when I saw Sam crouching near the big oak tree in front of my house. He wasn’t picking up trash—he was sweeping some leaves aside and carefully placing something under a bush. I squinted, trying to see more clearly. It didn’t look like trash at all. Curiosity got the best of me, so I decided to investigate after they left.
Once the kids were out of sight, I walked over to the bush. My heart raced a little—there’s something exciting about uncovering a mystery, even at my age. When I bent down and brushed the leaves aside, I found coins. Quarters, dimes, and even a few pennies, scattered and hidden. I was baffled. Why were they hiding money under bushes?
Determined to figure it out, I started searching other bushes along the street. Sure enough, I found more coins tucked away in random spots—behind the street sign, near the storm drain, and even wedged between bricks. By the time I finished, I had gathered nearly five dollars in loose change. Confused, I stood there, wondering what these kids were up to.
Later that day, I saw Grace unloading groceries and decided to confront her. “Grace,” I called, “your kids are doing a great job cleaning the street, but I have to ask—what’s with all the coins?”
Grace looked puzzled. “Cleaning the street?” she asked, then burst into laughter. “Oh, no! They’re not cleaning—they’re on a treasure hunt! Their grandpa hides coins around the neighborhood for them every Sunday. It’s a game they’ve been playing for years.”
I stood there, stunned. “So, all this time, I thought they were being model citizens, and they’ve just been looking for treasure?”
Grace nodded, still chuckling. “Exactly. It’s just a fun little tradition.”
I laughed too, feeling a bit foolish but relieved. “Well, I’ve been collecting their treasure all afternoon!” I confessed, showing her the handful of coins.
We both laughed, and Grace assured me her kids would find it hilarious. As I walked back home, I realized that while Becky and Sam weren’t the neighborhood angels I thought they were, they were still having good, wholesome fun. And next Sunday, I’d be watching their treasure hunt with a new perspective, simply enjoying the show.