For months, I honestly thought I had hit the jackpot with my neighbour’s teenagers.
For a while, I truly believed I had the best neighbors anyone could ask for.
Every Sunday morning without fail, their teenage kids were outside, cleaning the street. Two polite, quiet kids—always sweeping, bagging trash, tidying up like they genuinely cared. In a world that often feels so disconnected, it was refreshing to see teens giving back to their community like that.
As someone in my 60s who’s seen all kinds of things in this neighborhood—good and bad—it warmed my heart. I’d sit by the window each week, sipping my morning tea, watching them work. Their effort reminded me of when my own kids were younger, still at home, still wanting to help.
Their names were Becky and Sam. Just teenagers, but already showing such discipline and responsibility. I admired them deeply.
One morning, I caught a glimpse of their mom, Grace, rushing out the front door—clearly late for something. I called out with a smile, “Grace! Your kids are doing a wonderful job with the street. You must be so proud!”
She stopped, glanced at me for a moment with a strange expression, then forced a small smile.
“Oh… yeah. Thanks. They’re good kids,” she said before hurrying off.
Her response felt… off. But I chalked it up to being in a rush.
More Sundays went by. The kids kept at it—never missing a week. Once, I even brought out some lemonade for them, but they politely declined.
“We just have to finish up,” Becky said, before going right back to work.
I thought, What responsible kids.
But I had no idea what was really going on.
Then, just this past Sunday, something happened that I never expected.
Last Sunday, though, something caught my eye—and it shifted everything.
From my usual perch by the window, I noticed Sam behaving a little differently.
He wasn’t just picking up litter.
He was crouched near the big oak tree in front of my yard, carefully brushing aside leaves and tucking something beneath the low-hanging branches. It definitely didn’t look like trash.
He kept glancing over his shoulder, as if making sure no one was watching.
Now he really had my attention.
After they wrapped up and walked home, my curiosity got the best of me. I grabbed my gloves and stepped outside. The breeze pulled at my cardigan as I crouched down by the tree and gently brushed aside the leaves Sam had arranged.
That’s when I saw it—a small pile of coins. Quarters, nickels, dimes, even some pennies.
I furrowed my brow. Why would he hide money here?
Intrigued, I checked a few other spots along the street. Behind a street sign. Near the base of the lamppost. Tucked between the bricks by the curb.
By the time I was done, I’d gathered nearly five dollars in loose change.
So now I wasn’t just confused—I was completely baffled.
Why were these kids stashing coins instead of cleaning?
Later that afternoon, I spotted Grace unloading groceries from her car. I pocketed the coins and headed over, determined to get some answers.
“Grace!” I called out, waving.
She looked up, surprised, but smiled warmly. “Hey there! Everything okay?”
I chuckled, trying to keep it light. “Yes, all good. I just wanted to say again how amazing your kids are—out there every Sunday, cleaning the street. It’s really inspiring.”
She raised an eyebrow, clearly confused.
“Cleaning? What are you talking about?”
I blinked. “You know… Becky and Sam. I see them from my window every Sunday morning, sweeping and picking up trash.”
Grace stared at me for a beat. And then suddenly, she burst out laughing.
“Oh no,” she said between giggles. “They’re not cleaning!”
I blinked, completely confused.
“Wait… what do you mean they’re not cleaning?”
“They’re on a treasure hunt!” Grace said through laughter. “Their grandpa hides coins around the neighborhood every Sunday. It’s a little tradition—they’ve been doing it for years! They’re not cleaning—they’re looking for treasure!”
I stood there, stunned.
“A treasure hunt? So… all this time, I thought they were out here cleaning the street, and they were actually playing a game?”
Grace nodded, still grinning.
“Exactly. My dad started it when they were really little. He hides quarters, dimes—sometimes even a dollar—and every Sunday, they set out to find them. It’s kind of their thing.”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Well, I’ll be. Here I was, thinking I’d found the most responsible teens on the block, and they’ve just been playing pirates this whole time!”
Grace laughed too.
“Sorry for the confusion! I can see how it might look like they’re cleaning. But really, they’re just hunting for treasure.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the coins I’d collected earlier.
“And this? I found it under the bushes today.”
Grace’s eyes widened.
“Oh no—you found their stash!”
“I couldn’t help myself,” I said, chuckling. “I saw Sam hiding something and got curious. Thought maybe they were being sneaky.”
Grace shrugged playfully.
“No worries. I’ll tell them where their treasure went—they’ll get a kick out of it.”
We both shared a good laugh, and then she asked, “So what did you think they were doing out there all this time?”
Feeling a little embarrassed, I admitted,
“To be honest? I thought they were doing community service or something. I even told you how proud you must be.”
Grace shook her head, still smiling.
“Well, in a way, they kind of are. They’re keeping Grandpa happy and getting some sunshine. That’s worth something, right?”
I nodded, still grinning.
“True. And next Sunday, I think I’ll skip the tea and just enjoy the treasure hunt.”
Grace gave me a wink.
“Now that’s the spirit.”
