HomeTrendingNeighbors Hate Statue, Then They See Who Owns It

Neighbors Hate Statue, Then They See Who Owns It

As he skimmed the paper, all the strange things that had been happening to him were finally clear. How could someone be so cruel? 

Not to mention getting others to join in? The rest of his family was furious but had no idea what to do, except for his granddaughter. All she needed was her phone.

The Ohio grandfather spent his retirement like many others. He watched television, met with friends, visited family, and enjoyed hobbies. 

One in particular was his favorite – decorating his front yard. It started small, with a few plants, but he had dreams of a lush lawn filled with green. Then something strange started to happen.

It was just one car. It slowed down and lingered in front of his house. Maybe they were lost? Perhaps a delivery? 

He pushed the moment aside and continued on with life. More cacti, plaques, and whatever bobbles brought him happiness. However, the number of cars slowing down started to increase.

One day, he brought a lovely statue that was languishing in a yard sale. Its new resting place was a prominent place in the center of his yard. 

A few mornings later, he came out to find it had fallen over … and somehow rolled behind one of his bushes. Was that even possible?

He moved it back. Thankfully there was no damage. And although he might have been old, his mind was still sharp. 

Too many weird things had been happening, so he started to keep a daily note of what was going on. On random days he would find it moved or fallen over.

There was someone else who was able to help the old man – the neighbor’s dog.

 It was a sweet thing, but quite yappy. In this case, it was the perfect “alarm”. Most barks were at joggers or people strolling by, then one afternoon it went crazy. He heard a clink at his front door.

He rushed as fast as his old bones would let him. Outside was sunny and warm, but not a person in sight – just a bouncy, barking pooch on the other side of a fence. 

Something white caught his eye. There was an envelope in the mail slot. But the mailman had already brought him his daily delivery. What could it be?

He ran his wrinkled fingers along the seam and pulled out a piece of paper. The letters were old but familiar – written on those typewriters that no one uses anymore. 

He scanned the words. His mouth turned down into a frown. By the time he reached the end, he could only do one thing … call his granddaughter. 

She gave a bright hello and he tried to hide the sadness in his voice. “Hi, sweetie. Can I ask you something?” 

He tossed the letter on the table. “Is my front yard ugly?” The soft voice on the other end turned concerned. “Grandpa, what happened?” He took a deep breath and explained what had just arrived.

The letter, it seemed, was from another person in the neighborhood. 

Not only did they complain about his choice of decorating, but they had been gossiping to their friends. They, in turn, had been driving by his place to take a look. This explained the lingering cars. But, it got worse.

Somehow, they felt his method and choice of planting was their business. They complained not only about the fact there were plants spread across the yard, but that they were also in pots. 

For some reason, this really upset them. His lawn wasn’t like “the other lawns” and he should step outside and see how bad it looked.

The granddaughter’s voice turned livid. The old man sat there, conflicted between sadness and anger. 

The poor girl’s rage went up another level as the letter continued to explain that he had too many American flag and it wasn’t going to convince anyone he was “patriotic.” The final blow was coming.

The aggressive neighbor of Thunderbird Hills subdivision went on to say the old man was a laughing stock. 

The decorations were in bad taste and embarrassing. To them, it was “clear” that a “low-class Mexican family” lived there, or “some Gypsy family.” The sign off was “The decent, middle-class people.” It was enough, the girl whipped out her phone.

The first thing she needed to do (besides vent the fire in her veins) was get more support for her grandfather.

 She posted the letter on Twitter with the message, “Someone REALLY sent this to my grandpa… my man is just trynna decorate his house and… I f*** hate people.” What were the reactions?

It was an avalanche of love and support. Many commented on how his yard was lovely and he should keep going. 

Several suggested teaching the rude neighbor a lesson buy adding MORE things on his lawn – with many offering to ship items to him. There were also extremes of “setting fires” that most readers ignored. In the end, he tossed the letter in a drawer and went out to buy more cacti. A lot more.


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