For months, I believed I had struck gold with the neighbor’s kids—two adolescents who spent their Sunday mornings cleaning up the neighborhood like they were campaigning for office. But when I saw one of them stashing something beneath a bush, I knew their “good deeds” weren’t quite as they looked.
As a lady in her 60s, I’ve witnessed almost everything in this area, from the wonderful to the horrible and everything in between. But seeing two youngsters, just out of middle school, cleaning the sidewalks and taking up trash every Sunday? That gave me hope for the younger generation.
Every Sunday morning, I’d sit by my window with a cup of tea, watching them. They were out there, working hard—pushing brooms, dragging garbage bags, and keeping the roadway clean. It was stunning, to say the least, and they made me think of my own children when they were smaller, before they grew up and moved away. That was nearly admirable.
One morning, while watering my plants, I noticed their mother, Grace, running out of her house. She constantly appeared to be in a rush, presumably heading to work.
For illustrative purpose only. (Freepik)
“Grace!” I called out, waving. “I just wanted to say your kids are doing a fantastic job cleaning up the neighborhood. You must be so proud!”
Grace paused, giving me a strange look, like I’d just said something that didn’t quite sit right with her. She smiled politely and replied, “Oh, uh… thank you, they’re… good kids.” Her tone was off, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. Maybe she was just late for work.
Over the weeks, I continued to see Becky and Sam—that’s what I assumed their names were—working hard every Sunday morning. I even offered them lemonade once, but they respectfully declined, stating that they had tasks to finish. I recall thinking how mature they were considering their age.
Then, last Sunday, something unusual occurred. As usual, Becky and Sam were walking down the street, heads down. But this time, I observed something unusual. Sam wasn’t simply picking up garbage; he was stooping by the large oak tree in front of my house, brushing leaves away and carefully tucking something behind a bush.
I squinted and tried to see through the glass, but I couldn’t make it out. It did not appear like garbage. In fact, he appeared sneaky, looking over his shoulder before going on. My interest was peaked. What may he be hiding?
I chose to wait until they went. After all, I had lived in this area for more than 30 years, and something didn’t feel right. When they disappeared around the corner, I put on my gardening gloves and went outdoors. As I reached the shrub, I felt a cold wind brush across my hair. I leaned down and pushed the leaves aside where Sam had been crouching. My pulse beat a little—it’s exciting to solve a mystery, especially at my age.
And there it was: a little stack of coins. Quarters, dimes, and a few of bright pennies. I grimaced, my thoughts racing. Why were they concealing money beneath a bush?
I continued looking. Once I understood what to look for, I discovered additional coins—tucked behind the street sign, squeezed between the bricks of the curb, and even concealed near the storm drain. By the time I was finished, I had gathered about $5.
I couldn’t put my mind around it. Why would they hide cash instead of tidying up trash? Were they up to anything sneaky?
Later that afternoon, I noticed Grace unloading goods from her car. It was a fantastic opportunity to acquire some answers. I walked over, monies jingling in my pocket.
“Grace!” I yelled out and waved her over.
She grinned, little astonished. “Hey! Is everything okay?
“Oh, yeah,” I replied, forcing a casual tone. “I just wanted to mention again how thoughtful your kids are, cleaning up the street every week.”
Grace furrowed her brow in confusion. “Cleaning up the street? What do you mean?”
I blinked. “You know, they’re out there every Sunday, picking up trash, sweeping… I see them all the time from my window.”
She looked bewildered for a while before bursting out laughing and grabbing her sides. “Oh, no, no! “They aren’t cleaning!” she managed to exclaim between bouts of laughter.
Now I was the one perplexed. “Wait, what?”
“They’re on a treasure hunt!” she screamed, wiping away her tears. “Their grandfather conceals coins across the neighborhood every Sunday. They’ve been playing this little game for years. They’re not cleaning up rubbish; they’re looking for treasure!”
I stood there sh0cked. “You’re telling me that for months I thought they were being model citizens, and they’ve just been… playing a game?”
Grace nodded, still smiling. “Exactly! My father created it when they were tiny to keep them amused. He conceals coins—quarters, dimes, and even a dollar bill—and they spend the morning looking for them.
I gazed at her, my jaw slack. “So all this time, I thought they were the most responsible kids in the neighborhood, and they were just hunting for coins?”
Grace giggled and nodded. “Yep, that’s pretty much it.”
I leaned on the fence, sighing deeply before laughing with her. “Well, I will be! I assumed they were out here performing their civic duty, but they were playing pirates!”
Grace laughed even harder. “I apologize for the confusion! I think it looks like they’re cleaning up, but believe me, they’re just looking for the treasure.”
I withdrew a bunch of money from my pocket and held them up. “And this?” “This is the grand prize I’ve been collecting all afternoon!”
Grace’s eyes widened. “Oh no, you found their stash!”
“I couldn’t help myself,” I said, chuckling. “I saw they were hiding something, and my curiosity got the best of me. I suspected they were up to naught good!”
“Don’t worry,” Grace remarked with a smile. “I will inform them where their treasure has gone. “They’ll find it hilarious.”
As we stood there, our laughing faded to a comfortable stillness. Grace then said, “So, what did you think they were doing, really?”
I shrugged and smiled foolishly. “Honestly? I assumed they were cleaning up the area as part of a community service effort. I even praised you on how thoughtful they were.”
Grace shook her head while still giggling. “In a sense, they are. They’re entertaining Grandpa and enjoying some fresh air, right?
“True enough,” I answered. “But I must say, you really had me going. I assumed I was observing future city council members at work.
Grace winked at me. “Who knows?” Maybe they’re learning responsibility, even if it’s only for a few cents.”
“Maybe,” I said, smiling. “Next Sunday, I plan to sit back and enjoy the show…” “Treasure hunt and all.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Grace said with a smile.
