TBT: Help There’s A Criminal In My Backyard

Throwback thursday is arguably the driving force behind my generation. I firmly believe that some people only make it through the week by looking forward to the next Thursday so they can force everyone to recognize how they were at least seventeen times cuter than all the other children. In the spirit of this strange holiday that we can’t help but recognize, I bring you throwback story Thursday.

My parents’ house is the very last one on the street in a typical suburban neighborhood. The backyard is all woods and the neighborhood ends with a big stretch of woods. Sometimes that’s really cool like let’s go on a nature walk and sometimes it’s more like dang it there’s people doing drugs in our woods again, but it is what it is.

Last summer this old station wagon kept driving up and parking at the end of the street by the woods. Not unusual, but worthy of skepticism. All the secret spy muscles in my dad’s head started working and he made it his mission to find out what was going on. A station wagon parking by the woods is concerning in it’s own right. But an old man getting out with a shovel and a bag and disappearing for a few hours, that’s something to write home about. The Storm household was on high alert. Everyone keep your eye open for the station wagon, we gotta get to the bottom of this. One beautiful Thursday morning as my dad was taking me to work at Dick’s (I still consider organizing basketball shorts my true calling) the station wagon was spotted. We contacted the authorities and staked out the scene, the neighbors came out from their hiding places, now we got some action.

The actual story turned out better than I could have dreamed. As soon as the police got there they recognized the name. The man that kept going into the woods was the father of a wanted criminal that had been living behind our house for weeks. He went back there to dig up the things his son had stolen and buried, all as an attempt to cover up his life of crime. There was literally a fugitive living behind my house just hanging out with his stolen stuff while I ignorantly tanned in my backyard. I think the moral of the story is to hide the stuff you steal better than just burying it behind someones house. And maybe don’t tell your parents about your hiding spot.


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