it takes a village

There's a popular saying, though I'm not sure I buy into it completely, that "it takes a village to raise a child."  Perhaps it does.  Today, for better or worse, I was part of a child's village.

A young teen & his friend were walking down the sidewalk as I turned the corner.   Piled in our minivan, blocks away from our mac & cheese lunch, we were all eager to get home.  I looked over and saw this young guy toss a metal bed frame (the type that holds the mattress only) over a fence.  He and his friends skipped into a jog, heading to the convenience store for their snack.

I could have gone on, or ignored them, or rambled about "kids these days," but I'm glad I didn't.  This is my neighborhood, and that's my neighbor.  "Love thy neighbor," I thought, and "love is patient and kind... love speaks the truth..."  Okay, the teen and homeowner are my neighbors, so how do I love them?  

I whipped around the corner and pulled into the parking lot just as they emerged with their sodas and chips.   "Hey," I called out my window, somewhat surprised when they turned around.  "I saw you toss that bed frame into that yard.  You need to go apologize to that neighbor and get it back."

"Uh.  Okay?"  the kid seemed shocked and sheepish.  Some crazy lady in a minivan was watching for his reaction.  The boys started to cross the street and walk past the yard.  I started to turn home, but saw them walking away.  Do I continue, or shrug it off?  

"No - that yard belongs to this house," I said, pointing to the entrance.  

"Now?!"  he seemed incredulous.  

"Yes, now.  If I don't see you try to make this right by yourself, I'll need to report it to the police.  You made a mistake and you can fix it."

He looked a little surprised and annoyed, but handed his soda to a friend and motioned them on.  He hiked up a dilapidated set of stairs to a house that hasn't seen a lot of attention for many years.  He knocked at the door, then peered back at me, waiting at the curb.  After a couple minutes, it was clear nobody would answer, so he turned down the stairs and came near my car.

"Nobody's there," he sighed, as if to say, "are you happy now?!"  

I handed him a notebook and pen.  "What's this for?"  he asked.  

"Write them a note.  Say who you are, where you go to school, and what you've done.  You seem like a smart guy.  You know it was wrong, so tell them you're sorry, and you're willing to come back and get it."  I clicked the pen and handed it over.  With another small eye roll, he started writing.  I could see "my name is...." and "I go to ... school" and "I'm sorry..." and "I'll come back to get it." written in earnest.  I watched, sort of surprised, as he wrote a full paragraph of honest apology.

He finished and looked at me, unsure of what to do with his note.  I smiled and said, "Good. Now go put it in his mailbox slot & head back to school.  That's all you can do for now."

With little reaction, he went back up the stairs and inserted the note while we watched from the minivan.  Once he came back, he looked at me as if to say, "anything else?!"  I just smiled again, truly wanting to encourage him.  "You did the right thing," I said, really meaning it. "Thanks."

And that was it.  He headed back to school, we headed back home, while a few teachable moments were created in my minivan.  He didn't look at all resentful - so perhaps it was a teachable moment for him, too.  We were, for that moment, a village.