“I WOKE UP TO FIND MY FLAG GONE—AND A $20 BILL ON MY DOORSTEP
It wasn’t about the flag.
It was about what it meant to me. I’d hung it out front the day I moved in—not to make a statement, just to feel a little more like home. New street, new neighbors, new everything. I was the outsider. Everyone knew it. Nobody said it, but you can feel that kind of thing.
So when I stepped outside and saw the pole empty, just the little plastic clip swinging in the wind, I felt this weird knot in my chest. Anger, sure. But mostly just… disappointed. Like I’d lost more than fabric.
I didn’t even mention it to anyone.
But the next morning, I found a piece of notebook paper under my doormat. Torn edges. Handwritten, kind of messy. It said:
“I SAW KIDS STEAL YOUR U.S. FLAG.
I KNOW YOU ARE THE ONLY WHITE GUY IN THIS AREA.
WE AREN’T ALL THE SAME.
BUY A NEW FLAG WITH THIS.
—NEIGHBORS”
And taped to the note?
A crisp twenty.
I sat on the stoop for a long time with that paper in my hands, not even sure what to feel. Grateful. Humbled. Seen.
But when I finally walked to the corner store to get a replacement flag, the cashier handed me something with the receipt—folded small, no name on it.
