The girls were busy with homework, one in her bedroom, the other sitting at the dining room table next to the lighted tree. She had a clear shot of the front door and we both squinted out of it into the night. A figure was approaching my door by way of my front lawn. He appeared out of nowhere from the left side of my house from the street. My porch light was on, my storm door unlocked. In his hand he held a red gas can. Immediately, my dog was at the door as he sensed a person nearing and he began barking loudly.
I got up from my nice position, paused my television program, and met the man at my door. I did not open the door, but instead opened the window of my storm door. It is one of those doors with a hidden screen. The door is completely glass, but when the top portion of the pane is slid down it reveals a screen. This is the way I always talk to people I don't know at my front door. Especially ones who appear in the dark after hours. The dog just kept barking. Loudly.
To give the guy credit, he did stand back from the porch. He didn't appear threatening, despite his holding a gas can, and he was young, possibly late twenties. He began speaking as soon as the screen appeared. His car was just down the road with his wife and kid in it. He was out of gas and needed help. He seemed very believable with a touch of panic in his voice and a desperate need to be helped. He had nothing but trouble and I had all of the above, the security, warmth, and comfort of a home during the holidays. Wouldn't I help?
I wanted to. I pictured a woman in a car with two small kids on the side of the road. They were huddled in the back seat, headlights of approaching cars beaming into their rear window and then there was nothing but darkness as they sped on, leaving the three snuggling in their down coats for warmth waiting for the father/husband to return with help. I thought about his struggle, trudging through the neighborhood, worrying about his family, trying desperately to return to them, the hero.
Then my TV viewing instinct kicked in. This is Florida, it is 78 degrees, and down the road is not a busy highway. Who drives around with a gas can in his car? There is a gas station within walking distance of my neighborhood. Why is he here and not there? Is my back door secure? While he is talking to me is someone at the back of my house? Dammit, my storm door is not locked. My kids are here in the house. My husband isn't. This dog isn't exactly a killer.
Me: "Did you try the house over there?" I pointed to my neighbor, the retired cop, the one with an arsenal in his house. He seemed better equipped to respond to a stranger in need.
Him: "I did. He didn't have any gas "
I seized on that. I didn't have any gas either. I was sorry. I actually thought about offering to drive him to the gas station down the street, but it was a fleeting thought. I couldn't leave my kids and I wasn't crazy. He gave me a pitiful look and asked instead for money. A couple of dollars just so he could get back home to a city south of here. Such a long way. It was as if he forgot the script of the broken down car and was acting from the one where he needed to return to his home oh so far away, the one that a group in our area uses while panhandling at local gas stations.
Was he casing my house? Sizing me up? Or, for heaven's sake, was he a man in true need? What could a couple of dollars hurt if he was? But to get said dollars I would need to leave the front door. The front door that wasn't locked. To give him the said dollars would require my opening the door toward the outside. Both of these options left me and my family vulnerable. Left us exposed. I've seem too many shows where the women did just that and it never ended well. Had he come to my door during the daytime I might have felt differently. I declined to give him money. I was sorry. I suggested he try my next door neighbor, the retired fireman with an arsenal in his home. I wanted to help (my neighbor was not happy with me for that) if he truly had a family stuck on the side of the road.
But when I said no to the money, he gave me a look, turned away, and marched back the way he had arrived down through my lawn to the street. I had seen that look before. A month ago as Darcy and I returned from a sports event at nine o'clock in the evening, as I drove into my one car garage and exited it out into my darkened driveway, a man and a little girl about nine years old appeared before me. He stayed back at a distance not threatening to us and he told me in a hurried voice how his daughter was collecting money and participating in Jump for Heart, a contest for the American Heart Association, and would I donate to help her out. I explained that I did indeed support that organization via the daughter standing next to me. He didn't care. Would I give to his daughter?
I could barely make out his features in the darkness, but when I declined to help the disgust and anger on his face as he pulled the girl away and marched down the driveway was quite clear. He was furious. It scared me. I wanted to call out to him to come back during the day, at an hour more suitable. I wanted to tell him I wasn't lying, I rarely carry cash. I rushed Darcy into the house, closed my garage and locked my front door.
Now as I stood staring at the back of the retrieving man through the screen I began to wonder if he was the same man. Was this some kind of job he was pulling monthly? I closed my main door and locked it. I worried he was mad enough to use the gas can and whatever gas he might have collected to burn down my house. I thought of my friend, Robin, who had experienced a similar man with a gas can in Indiana. I wanted to call the sheriff's office. I realized then that I should have offered to call the sheriff for the man to help his wife and children. That would have been the smart thing to have done, but as usual I thought of it too late. Then I just got mad.
I didn't want my door closed. My house is a dark house anyway and the addition of my storm door has made my house a tad lighter and not closed me off from my neighbors. At night I keep the door opened for the dog who watches and waits for my husband and at this time of the year to enjoy my neighbor's holiday lights. I didn't want to have to close myself off in my dark house because of a stranger. Yet here I was. Holed up and feeling fearful.
I found it ironic that this was happening now since in November I had read a great article in my favorite blog, Girls Gone Child, about this same thing. Her daughter was learning about stranger danger in school and didn't understand why she said good morning to people she didn't know on the street. It is a fabulous article and worth reading if you have children. I liked that the author refused to be hidden in a shell from other people, despite what we know about evil. Suddenly I understood it even more as I stood behind my closed, locked door. I wanted to open it up, trudge outside to find the man. I wanted to tell him that I give to various charities throughout the year. That we worked hard for the home we had and that we didn't look down upon anyone that wasn't as fortunate as we know we are. That I would certainly help a person in need and that I would be happy to call the sheriff's office to have a patrol car assist him and his family in getting their car started again. And I wanted to ask him how he would feel if the roles were reversed and it had been his wife on the other side of the door at this time of night. But I didn't do any of that.
Fifteen minutes later my dog alerted me to the fact that he needed out. Madison came with us and as we exited the house the sheriff's office was driving slowly down the street in a Ford Explorer with a huge search light that he shone up and down the street and into our yards. Someone had called them. Tom spoke with the deputy, who was still searching the neighborhood two hours later. He told Tom there was no broken car, no wife, and no children. Another car had been spotted dropping the man off in the neighborhood and that the car and men had come from the parking lot of our local grocery.
Christmas carols happily urge us to give this holiday season. Charities are desperate for us to do so. People tend to be more jolly and kinder this time of the year, and maybe all of that just makes it easier for people who don't have good intentions to take advantage. Maybe in the midst of all of our talk about the reason for the season, and being good and kind, we should also talk about our safety, and as Girls Gone Child blogger said, instincts. If something doesn't feel right, trust those instincts, go with your gut even if it means shutting yourself inside your dark house. Because hopefully doing so will allow us to eventually open the door once again.
Was he casing my house? Sizing me up? Or, for heaven's sake, was he a man in true need? What could a couple of dollars hurt if he was? But to get said dollars I would need to leave the front door. The front door that wasn't locked. To give him the said dollars would require my opening the door toward the outside. Both of these options left me and my family vulnerable. Left us exposed. I've seem too many shows where the women did just that and it never ended well. Had he come to my door during the daytime I might have felt differently. I declined to give him money. I was sorry. I suggested he try my next door neighbor, the retired fireman with an arsenal in his home. I wanted to help (my neighbor was not happy with me for that) if he truly had a family stuck on the side of the road.
But when I said no to the money, he gave me a look, turned away, and marched back the way he had arrived down through my lawn to the street. I had seen that look before. A month ago as Darcy and I returned from a sports event at nine o'clock in the evening, as I drove into my one car garage and exited it out into my darkened driveway, a man and a little girl about nine years old appeared before me. He stayed back at a distance not threatening to us and he told me in a hurried voice how his daughter was collecting money and participating in Jump for Heart, a contest for the American Heart Association, and would I donate to help her out. I explained that I did indeed support that organization via the daughter standing next to me. He didn't care. Would I give to his daughter?
I could barely make out his features in the darkness, but when I declined to help the disgust and anger on his face as he pulled the girl away and marched down the driveway was quite clear. He was furious. It scared me. I wanted to call out to him to come back during the day, at an hour more suitable. I wanted to tell him I wasn't lying, I rarely carry cash. I rushed Darcy into the house, closed my garage and locked my front door.
Now as I stood staring at the back of the retrieving man through the screen I began to wonder if he was the same man. Was this some kind of job he was pulling monthly? I closed my main door and locked it. I worried he was mad enough to use the gas can and whatever gas he might have collected to burn down my house. I thought of my friend, Robin, who had experienced a similar man with a gas can in Indiana. I wanted to call the sheriff's office. I realized then that I should have offered to call the sheriff for the man to help his wife and children. That would have been the smart thing to have done, but as usual I thought of it too late. Then I just got mad.
I didn't want my door closed. My house is a dark house anyway and the addition of my storm door has made my house a tad lighter and not closed me off from my neighbors. At night I keep the door opened for the dog who watches and waits for my husband and at this time of the year to enjoy my neighbor's holiday lights. I didn't want to have to close myself off in my dark house because of a stranger. Yet here I was. Holed up and feeling fearful.
I found it ironic that this was happening now since in November I had read a great article in my favorite blog, Girls Gone Child, about this same thing. Her daughter was learning about stranger danger in school and didn't understand why she said good morning to people she didn't know on the street. It is a fabulous article and worth reading if you have children. I liked that the author refused to be hidden in a shell from other people, despite what we know about evil. Suddenly I understood it even more as I stood behind my closed, locked door. I wanted to open it up, trudge outside to find the man. I wanted to tell him that I give to various charities throughout the year. That we worked hard for the home we had and that we didn't look down upon anyone that wasn't as fortunate as we know we are. That I would certainly help a person in need and that I would be happy to call the sheriff's office to have a patrol car assist him and his family in getting their car started again. And I wanted to ask him how he would feel if the roles were reversed and it had been his wife on the other side of the door at this time of night. But I didn't do any of that.
Fifteen minutes later my dog alerted me to the fact that he needed out. Madison came with us and as we exited the house the sheriff's office was driving slowly down the street in a Ford Explorer with a huge search light that he shone up and down the street and into our yards. Someone had called them. Tom spoke with the deputy, who was still searching the neighborhood two hours later. He told Tom there was no broken car, no wife, and no children. Another car had been spotted dropping the man off in the neighborhood and that the car and men had come from the parking lot of our local grocery.
Christmas carols happily urge us to give this holiday season. Charities are desperate for us to do so. People tend to be more jolly and kinder this time of the year, and maybe all of that just makes it easier for people who don't have good intentions to take advantage. Maybe in the midst of all of our talk about the reason for the season, and being good and kind, we should also talk about our safety, and as Girls Gone Child blogger said, instincts. If something doesn't feel right, trust those instincts, go with your gut even if it means shutting yourself inside your dark house. Because hopefully doing so will allow us to eventually open the door once again.
Well written ! Time to buy a gun?
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