In the 1970s, my brothers and I loved stories about superheroes who protected the underdog.
My brothers would pretend to be Superman and stand for “Truth, Justice, and the American Way.” I would pretend to be Wonder Woman, the Amazonian princess who had incredible strength and could deflect bullets with her special metal bracelets and bring down the bad guys with her Lasso of Truth. We collected comic books and made costumes to patrol our neighborhood on the lookout for wrongdoers, ready to stick up for those who couldn’t defend themselves.
Looking back at that time, some forty years ago, those ideals of justice, honesty, and kindness have stuck with me. However, my role models these days are a little less flashy. I’ve been watching reruns of Murder She Wrote and reading Agatha Christie novels. If Angela Lansbury can be a hero, perhaps there is still hope for me!
And something happened last Friday that gave me that opportunity …
Friday mornings are one of my favorite mornings of the week. Probably a holdover from school days—when Friday was exciting since it was the last day you had to get up early and race out the door to make it to the drop-off circle before the bell rang. Now that the kids have left the nest, schooldays are long behind us. These days, I like to get up early on Friday mornings and enjoy a little quiet time before work.
But without fail—every single week—just as I prepare my cup of coffee and grab my book, I hear the roar of lawn equipment. Now, I love a routine, as you know, and I’ve mentioned my habit of time blocking and color coding my daily agenda. But this was just too much! Maybe it’s because the windows in our old house are thin, or my neighbor’s house is a little too close … but I couldn’t get away from the zip, zip, zip of the Weed Eater, and the loud roar and vibration of the mower.
“I’ve had it!” I told my husband as I paced around our kitchen. I shared with him my plan to confront the evil noisemakers and put a stop to their 7 a.m. attacks.
“How will you do that?” he asked, as I grabbed my notepad and pen.
“They are infringing on my quality of life!” And I wondered aloud, “Where are they blowing all those grass clippings and leaves?”
Racing from room to room inside the house, I was able to pinpoint the perpetrators’ location. They were, in fact, in the space between our house and our neighbor’s house. That’s the area we call no man’s land. The space that neither we nor our neighbors pay much attention to. Today, I was claiming no man’s land because I was sure the neighbor’s lawn guy was blowing every leaf and clipping from their lawn into ours!
That was it … there was my opportunity to be the hero. Not only was my quality of life in jeopardy, these inconsiderate, 7 a.m. marauders were breaking the rules! They are supposed to bag those clippings and leaves into an approved eco-friendly bag, not make more work for me!
I didn’t do it. I didn’t yell at them through my window. I didn’t run out the front door wielding my notepad. I stood a little taller and sauntered back to the kitchen. This was my moment … I became a crusader for justice!