For months, I thought I had found gold in the neighborhood kids—two teenagers who spent Sunday mornings cleaning up the neighborhood like they were running for office.
But when I saw one of them hiding something under a bush, I realized that their “good deeds” were not quite what they seemed.
As a 60-year-old woman, I’ve seen everything from the heartwarming to the downright shocking in this neighborhood.
But seeing two kids just out of high school cleaning the sidewalks and picking up trash every Sunday gave me hope for the younger generation.
Every Sunday I sat by the window with a cup of tea and watched them. They will be there, working hard – sweeping, hauling garbage bags, and keeping the street clean. It was touching and made me think of my own children when they were younger before they moved away. It was almost admirable.
One morning as I was watering my plants, I saw their mother Grace hurrying out of her house. He always seemed to be in a hurry, probably on his way to work.
“Grace!” I called and waved. “I just wanted to say that your kids are doing a great job cleaning up the neighborhood. You must be so proud!”
Grace paused and gave me a strange look as if I had said something she didn’t like. She smiled politely and replied, “Oh, uh… thank you, they’re… good kids.” Her tone was quiet, but I didn’t think much of it at the time.
Maybe she was just late for work. Every Sunday morning for weeks I saw Becky and Sam—that was what I assumed were their names—hard at work. I even offered them lemonade once, but they graciously declined, saying they had tasks to complete. I thought about how mature they were for their age.
Something unusual happened last Sunday. Becky and Sam walked down the street as usual with their heads down. But this time I noticed something strange. Sam didn’t just pick up trash; he was kneeling by the big oak tree in front of my house, brushing away leaves and carefully pushing something behind the bush.
I squinted my eyes and tried to see through the window, but I couldn’t get out. It didn’t look like garbage. In fact, he appeared to be creeping, glancing back over his shoulder before continuing. My curiosity was piqued. What could he be hiding?
I decided to wait until they left. After all, I had lived in this neighborhood for over 30 years and something was wrong. When they disappeared around the corner, I put on my gardening gloves and went outside. When I reached the bush, I felt a cool breeze in my hair.
I bent down and pushed the leaves away from where Sam was crouching. My heart was pounding – even at my age a bit of excitement at solving a mystery. And there it was: a small pile of coins. Quarters, dimes, and a few bright pennies. I smiled, my thoughts racing. Why did they hide the money under a bush?
I kept looking. Once I knew what to look for, I found more coins – hidden behind a street sign, wedged between bricks, and even near a drain. By the time I was done, I had collected about $5.
I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Why would they hide cash instead of cleaning up trash? Were they up to something sneaky?
Later that afternoon I saw Grace unloading the groceries from the car. It was the perfect opportunity to get some answers. I walked over, coins jingling in my pocket. “Grace!” I called and waved at her.
She smiled a little surprised. “Hey! Is everything okay?”
“Oh yes,” I replied casually. “I just wanted to mention again how considerate your kids are when they clean the street every week.
Grace furrowed her brows in confusion. “Cleaning the street? What do you mean?”
I blinked. “You know, they’re there every Sunday, picking up trash, sweeping… I see them all the time from the window.”
She looked at me blankly for a moment before bursting into laughter and clutching her hips. “Oh, no, no! They don’t clean! They’re on a treasure hunt!”
I stood there shocked. “Wait, what?”
“They’ve been doing it for years! My father hides coins around the neighborhood every Sunday and they spend the morning looking for them. It’s their little game,” she explained, still laughing.
I stood there with my mouth open. “So all this time I thought they were the most responsible kids and that they were just looking for treasure?”
Grace nodded, still laughing. “Exactly! My dad started it when they were little to keep them entertained.”
I looked at her stunned. “Are you telling me that for months I thought they were out here doing community service and they were just looking for coins?”
Grace giggled again. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.
I pulled a handful of coins from my pocket and waved them in the air. “And this?”
“That’s the grand prize you found!” she said with a smile.
I laughed. “I couldn’t help it. I saw them hiding something and my curiosity got the better of me. I thought they were up to something fishy!”
“Don’t worry,” Grace smiled. “I will tell them where their treasure went. They’ll think it’s funny.”
As we stood there, our laughter faded into a comfortable silence. Then Grace asked, “So what did you really think they were doing?”
I shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “Honestly? I thought they were cleaning up the neighborhood as part of some community service. I even complimented you on how considerate they were.”
Grace shook her head, still giggling. “In a way they are. They’re fun for grandpa and a breath of fresh air.”
“True,” I said with a smile. “But I must admit you really had me fooled. I thought I was watching future city councilors in action.”
Grace winked at me. “Who knows? Maybe he’s learning responsibility—even if it’s for a few cents.”
“Maybe,” I said with a smile. “I’ll go next Sunday.”