It was 4am; I had only gotten to sleep three hours prior. Exhausted wasn’t the word for it. Combined with this, it was my first time trying melatonin. I thought I’d give it a try, this wonder drug. I’ve never been a big pill person, if you can find Tylenol or Advil in our home, chances are, it’s expired. I’ve never even taken a sleeping pill before so my body was feeling the full effects of this wonder drug.
Fast asleep I heard knocking, was I dreaming this? Yes (I answer myself quickly) and proceeded to play the interruption into my dream. Then the second knock, this time a much louder, more impatient knock. A knock that says: ‘wake up dammit, this is important’. The 4am knock or phone-call that, no matter what the case, no one wants to get.
Fast asleep I heard knocking, was I dreaming this? Yes (I answer myself quickly) and proceeded to play the interruption into my dream. Then the second knock, this time a much louder, more impatient knock. A knock that says: ‘wake up dammit, this is important’. The 4am knock or phone-call that, no matter what the case, no one wants to get.
I was quick to nudge the man of the house beside me, the one who is, by way of DNA, expected to take on the daunting task of assessing, answering, and if need be, defending whatever might be on the other side of the door. Using a lowered voice (as though the person standing outside might hear) I say quiet and swiftly, ‘honey, someone’s at the door’
We built in a quiet, quaint little close nearly 5 years ago now. A thriving close no-less, with over 60 children. Neighbours that have consisted of a firefighter, police officer, stay at home mom’s and school principals. Where a neighbour takes it upon herself to steer a major silent auction for a stranger who's suffered a life changing accident. A neighbourhood, where everyone knows their neighbour and road hockey goes year round. A place where anyone would feel safe to raise a family. A Key-hole close which is a rarity in any city now a-days. A key-hole close also means nobody is coming in here, that is unless, they live here or they’re lost. A close where hosting a yard sale is never a good idea unless you’re prepared to listen to every second visitor speak with annoyance on how long it took them to find the place.
With our hearts racing we flew down the stairs. In attempts to quickly startle whoever was on the other side of the door, the man of our home slams open the blinds. There stood a guy (about my age) who quickly announced his position for standing on our steps at 4am: “A guy broke into your vehicle, we caught him”. Wait a minute (I thought to myself), this doesn’t sound right? This guys doesn’t appear to be Superman, where’s the cape? Superman is the only guy I know who is pouncing on bad guys in the dead of the night for the sake of good. The man of the house, the trusting one of us goes to unlock the door, I quickly put an end to that ‘Wait, you have no idea who this guy is!’ Every plausible scenario is running through my head. Is this that 4am horror hoax? The front page story in tomorrow’s paper? The unfortunate that happens to everyone; but us? Whereby we open the door, this man (along with the other 2 men hiding around the corner we can’t yet see) rush our home and then we’re really robbed!’ He turns to run upstairs to get some clothes on.
This man, still standing on the other side of the door staring at me with a look of confusion, I can tell he’s waiting for some sort of confirmation that I’ve heard him say he’s caught the man who was breaking into our vehicle. I stare back; I offer him nothing but a look of fear with a dash of evil eye. I have nothing to offer, so I run. I run as fast as I can across my living room in the dark to the kitchen and grab the phone and re-approach the door just as quickly. By this time he is walking away. Ah ha! My self says: I knew it; it’s a ploy, OMG! You son of a bitch! I whip open the door so quickly I scare myself and proceed to do what any fierce woman would do; I hold up the phone as though I’m holding a loaded weapon and scream to whomever is listening: ‘I’m calling the cops’. He stops, slowly turns around, holds up his iPhone, mirrors my stance and replies: “I already have, they’re on their way’. I breathe a sigh of relief (phew, this guy’s legit) Home invasion diverted.
This unfortunately wasn’t our first encounter with having our property violated. Our garage was broken into in another house we owned just days after we returned from one of those hot, tropical trips I’ve grown to miss since having daughter’s back to back. Titleist clubs and a vast array of Snap On tools were not on this thief’s wish list, spare change and cd’s was what he came for in the dead of the night. As I stood scanning my contents of my glove box strewn all over my car I see on the floor ultrasound pictures of my son I had taken to work to copy. Sacred memories now tossed on the floor treated like invaluable junk. Enter: Rage. This intruder, he could have taken the entire contents of the garage and it wouldn’t have made up for the feeling of violation I felt seeing those pictures on the floor.
On another instance, our entire street had their tires slashed one week-end and the bastards actually come back the next weekend and did it again! For what? For what senseless purpose does slashing the tires of an entire block of vehicles serve? A question that can’t be answered with a valid excuse. This is where the anger is, the anger that is vested in all of us who’ve ever been violated. The fire that burns inside us, men in particular. The thought of ever catching the person is a fire that rages deep, for sure.
On another instance, our entire street had their tires slashed one week-end and the bastards actually come back the next weekend and did it again! For what? For what senseless purpose does slashing the tires of an entire block of vehicles serve? A question that can’t be answered with a valid excuse. This is where the anger is, the anger that is vested in all of us who’ve ever been violated. The fire that burns inside us, men in particular. The thought of ever catching the person is a fire that rages deep, for sure.
You hear men speak who have had their property violated and the sheer thought of ever catching the person stirs up great emotion with a twinkle in their eye. A twinkle that represents pure lust, the thought of victory. The payoff of actually being able say: ‘I caught them red handed’. I was about to witness what would happened in such an instance that almost never, if ever, rarely comes true. What I didn’t know, is I was also about to witness a deeper side of myself. The true side I’ve always known has been a part of me.
We swung open the door of our home and together walked swiftly, side-by-side, towards the end of our drive way. As I walked towards my vehicle I was still feeling startled and in a haze. The cold hit me hard. The night was quiet, very quiet and everything was still. The man of my home has a 6’6” 230lbs stance, still, l felt jeopardized. The only light was a lone street light that casted a spotlight on the front of our drive pad. As I rounded the corner I saw at first the two men and then I looked down to see the body of a young man lying on the cold cement of my drive pad. A young man who looked to be about 17 years old. The young man who had just been caught breaking into our vehicle by strangers; a young man who anyone could tell, didn’t get down on the ground willing or without being thrown there with great force. He lay his face down, bare cheek up against the snow covered cement curled up in the fetal position. I stopped almost immediately, somewhat paralyzed at the sight. Tony proceeded towards the other two men who stood starring, over top their prey.
I stood and watched three full grown men stand over this seemingly lifeless body. He was still, so still in fact that you couldn’t even see him breath. My heart stopped and I starred, my true self, trying to figure out what emotion was appropriate for the moment. Very quickly, I became confused. The mother in me versus the person who’d just been violated was in battle, a battle that was intensifying quickly. As I listened to the men talk amongst each other, they explained in great detail to Tony the events which had transpired and evidentially led them to our home.
It was the first snowfall of the season; a paper fine scuff of snow blanketed the ground. My eyes followed the perfectly laid tracks that went around our close and stopped at our home. As I listened to the conversation among the men, it sounded much the same in comparison to how my little brother explained the tracking of a deer he hunted this fall. The men played out the events for Tony with an undertone of pride and victory of their catch. Just the way my brother does in telling his story of hunting. Though for differnt reasons, the feelings that stir inside while hunting were still the same. I stood quiet, I could do nothing but remain fixate on this lifeless body and the conversation amongst the three men became muffled by the voice of my thoughts. My inner voice took over and at a very rapid pace, began to ask a series of questions. My inner self was asking question that though I didn’t know it, were building a defense for this young man. As the voices and conversation of Tony and the other two men came back into focus, I knew this young man would need any defense he could get. But, why? Why was I building this defense for him?
These two men that stood alongside Tony, who, at 2am in a subdivision over, heard their garage door open while lying in the bed. These two men (uncle and nephew) had followed the newly fallen snow tracks of this young man all the way to our front door step. They caught him off guard (of course, the ultimate catch in any hunt). They caught him red handed while loading up the contents of loose change from our truck. These two men did what every man is programmed to some extent to do, they hunted and victory, it was theirs. They had caught the ultimate prey and their pride was not subtle. The prey that had preyed on their property and thought he’d get away with it. Not tonight. Tony stood over top this boy with the other two men and together the three men spoke words to this young man that in an instant, torn into the deepest parts of me. Though I understood their anger, the anger that resides in all of us, I could not compute. My head began to spin.
They weren’t getting a response from this young man and this angered the men even more. They were asking the boy a series of questions knowing full well that no answer would be appropriate. Still, they continued. As I stood listening to them firing off questions all I could think was: What was this young man supposed to do? Stand up and give justification? What justification would soothe them? Should he explain how he roams the streets at night breaking into vehicles for loose change to feed himself or his drug addiction? Or maybe the storyline of how he became homeless at such a young age might justify why he’s now laying in the fetal position on cold cement? Maybe they didn’t see how torn and soiled his clothes were, how dirty his finger nails were. As I, do they wonder where his mom is or what kind of father figure led him to our home? Wait. Why am I asking all these questions or even giving them consideration? Wait, dont these men standing over their prey see; what I see? What do they want from him? It’s clear; he had nothing to offer them, literally. Whatever the men were looking for, they weren’t getting anything from him and so, they continued.
What were these feelings I asked myself? Why, are under such circumstances are you having any regard for this person Leanna? Are you not appreciative of these men who took the time to follow him? all this way? for you? Of course I was. Well then, do you not feel the same anger we all feel in being violated? Of course I did. Ok, then, have you no regard for the love of your life, your family and the jeopardy people like him put you in? A young man who had full intent to take from you, everything he could in the still of the night? Of course I did. Still, I couldn’t answer or justify these seemingly ‘inappropriate’ feelings I was having. This part of me I couldn’t explain; the part of me that wanted to walk over, help him up off the cold cement and bring him inside and feed him. Is this crazy? Maybe. But if not, what was it?
The anger inside me was brewing deep. I tried to talk it down, it wasn’t going away. Then talk began amongst the men about teaching this kid a ‘lesson’ and as he lay lifeless,. And there is was, out of the dark of the night, a voice inside me screamed as loud as I could: “STOP, please! Just stop it!” I lowered my head in what at first felt like shame and I began to cry. My protector, the man who is programmed to defend his family against the very acts of the man lying on the ground looked over at me with a look of confusion.
With detectible sternness and question in his tone Tony look at me and said “Leanna, this kid just broke into our truck and stole from us”. I raised my head still crying and said with more conviction I ever knew was inside me:
"I don’t care! this is someone’s child for Christ Sakes! He is a human being! This child, he is my son. This child, he is your son! For the love of God, he is anyone’s son! Do you think he chose this life? a life of thieving in the cold of the night!!? Yes, fine! You caught him, now what? What! He is lying lifeless, he has nothing, nothing to offer you! Just stop!"
What had just happened in the still of that night, in that moment, I didn’t know. What I did know is you could have heard a pin drop. As I continued to sob, the silence was heavy. All at once, what I wanted the entire time to happen, did. They seen what I seen. They saw the boy lying on the ground, who, God only knew, the events which brought him down the road that led him to our home. A road that none of us standing over him, through the grace of God, had ever carried the burden of travelling. The silence fell hard and with that, so did the message I screamed in the middle of the night. If your inner voice is telling you to go against the well worn trail, though seemingly inappropriate, do it. Your heart, the ‘true’ inside us whispers. Whispers that we don’t always understand, but that’s why it whispers. Whispers, they get our attention. The true that will never steer you wrong. There is a deep recess in all of us that stands when we least expect it. There, in the silence of the night, was the beauty of the lesson. Sometimes a voice inside us speaks up. A voice, in unpredictable moments, prove to be louder than we ever knew they could be. Sometimes it surprises us, tonight was no exception.
The silence broke with the ringing of a phone. It was the cell phone of the young man who’d knocked on our door an eternity ago. It was the RCMP calling to get directions to our home. Directions? Come again? The young man passed me the phone and I proceeded to have a 10 minute conversation with an officer who apologized that he was unable to find our home because: he was tired. Yes, he actually used the excuse that he was tired. After five minutes I was becoming annoyed when he announced taken a yet another wrong turn. ‘I am on this street, where do I go from here?’ to which I replied: ‘don’t you guys have GPS in those cars”. My goodness I thought to myself, what if in fact it was an emergency. Then again, he too was human and he was just tired. This was his excuse. I wished the young man lying on the ground had one just as acceptable.
As I continued to talk him through the lefts and rights to our home it occurred to me that the silence was heavy amongst the men. I was shivering by this time, it was cold. It must have been 30 minutes now he’d been lying with his cheek up against the cement. I continued with directing the officer, I must have said our address more than 5 times in the course of directing him: “it’s a big red house, address is this, a big red house, house number this, keep coming, you can’t miss it, a big red house, now a left’ and then, I see headlights. Not a yard sale seeker, but just the same feedback when he stepped out of his car.
As I continued to talk him through the lefts and rights to our home it occurred to me that the silence was heavy amongst the men. I was shivering by this time, it was cold. It must have been 30 minutes now he’d been lying with his cheek up against the cement. I continued with directing the officer, I must have said our address more than 5 times in the course of directing him: “it’s a big red house, address is this, a big red house, house number this, keep coming, you can’t miss it, a big red house, now a left’ and then, I see headlights. Not a yard sale seeker, but just the same feedback when he stepped out of his car.
The officer immediately walked over to the man and lifted the hood of his jacket to look at his face, the boy didn’t move. ‘What’s your name, kid’? Asked the officer “Leo’ the young man replied. ‘Ugh, not YOU again’ said the officer, ‘up against the car and spread your legs’. The officer helped him to his feet and the boy still with his hood masking his face. Tony and the other man purposefully moved in closer to finally get a look at his face, and he let them. I walked over and almost immediately he put his head down and turned away. Why did he let the men look at him but refused to show me his face? I knew why. He didn’t care about showing his himself to the men who’d bellowed obscenities in his face, obscenities he’d heard his whole life, obscenities he’d looked in the eye his whole life, obscenities that were probably all he’d ever known his whole life. He wouldn’t however look at me; he didn’t want me to ‘see’ him. I knew, just as he did, hiding his face was his way of showing me the shame he was feeling. Shame because I did for him what he least deserved. I stood for him, this stranger.
As the officer started emptying the contents of the young man’s pockets he quickly realized his hands were full and he was nowhere near done. He asked if I had some sort of bag I could get him. I walked up the sidewalk of our home, freezing cold by this time, for sure. I walked into my warm, half a million dollar home full of; stuff. A home full of everything I could ever ask for and more. A home that we'd worked hard for. A safety of a warm home however that we deserved no more than he. A home that shelters, feeds, warms and is full of pretty things and vast array of pictures of people I love hanging on the walls. Most important, the two wonderfully beautiful little girls sleeping soundly and peacefully in their beds. Lastly, a fantastic monitored security system. As I neared the pantry my eyes were drawn instantly to a sign that hangs in my kitchen that reads “Kindness Matters’.
I made my way outside with the bag and handed it the officer, a freezer bag which he filled nearly half full. While emptying his pockets the officer gave us this young mans ‘life’ story. ‘We know this kid, it’s not the first time we’ve caught him, I’m surprised to find him all the way up here on this side of the city though, he’s usually on the north side of town, and he’s actually from Calgary to begin with’. This, this was his story but the story that was so much more. This was what he’d been reduced too. No story was being told about how he came from a loving family and was just entering his first year of university in hope of obtaining the courses he needed to get into drafting school. No speak of scholarships, friends or how he has loving supportive parents who helped him every step of the way. These were his truths. His story spoken by an officer to strangers. Truths that likely screamed at him every time they were spoken on how truly pathetic his life really was.
Let it be heard that I’m not oblivious or ignorant to the acts of this young man. The impacts which, in all likelihood, will escalate from stealing loose change to something much bigger. Bigger that’s defined by a jail sentence and spending a life in the system. My tax dollars, which feed people like him three square meals a day. Three meals a day while serving a jail sentence for taking his thieving up that extra notch. He is the reason we put in our home, the very best security system we could afford. He is the reason why, when the protector and man of our home is away on business, I’m the biggest scaredy-cat you’ll ever know. He is the reason I don’t shower during the day when I’m home alone with my children, for fear I won’t hear if someone like him has intruded. He is also part of my prayers at night when I talk to God, when I ask for protection, from acts and sometimes horrible and terrible events that happen to good people, every day. I don’t underestimate the impacts of his seemingly harmless thieving. How that garage door opener he had in his pocket might be passed onto a bigger player and how then, bad (really bad) things sometimes happen to good people. People, just like me. I’m not oblivious. If you must judge on my thoughts or actions, then please, do. The world's full of judgemment, which ironically, is the basis for this entire post. That, combined with an inner voice, the deeper part of everyone and their ability to provide basic understanding for those who sometimes, least deserve it.
This intruder, he won’t remember the 35 other door handles he tried opening that night, nor the 15 that he was successful in breaking into. He will however remember the events which unravelled on my property. I recognized this as an impactful event for him; I was not oblivious that while lying on the ground he was likely listening very intently to my conversation with the officer. Listening to a conversation where I repeatedly stating my address over and over (and over) again. The address, where everything I hold dear in this life time resides. The address that I’d probably repeated more than a handful of times while he was lying there lifeless soaking in not images but voices. My voice. He was listening intently for sure and I, I was not oblivious. As the officer was cuffing him and preparing to put him in the back seat I walked up and got very close to the young man, with purpose to invade his space. Very quietly so no one would hear but him, I whispered:
Now, I don’t hold a master’s degree in sociology nor have I any idea on the likes of criminal psychology but, something strange happened, he acknowledged me. He said simply: 'ok'. It was one of those ‘not what you say but rather how you say it’ moments. Perhaps the fact he said anything at all was the initial suprise. In that moment I believed him. As I sit here writing this, I still believe. This is not some ‘divine’ connection between him and I, but in some ways, it was. He is a criminal who came with intent to violate me, I recognize this. What I also recognize is the significance in basic goodness. Apparently he is 'human enough' to recognize basic goodness as well. Just as the sign that hangs in our home that reads “Kindness Matters’, yes, it does. Even to those who sometimes least deserve it.
Years ago I came across an article written by Ophra. It's the only article I've ever had the nerve to quietly tear out of a magazine while sitting amongst a bunch of strangers. For anyone who knows me, they know I am a memorabilia fanatic. After all, at the end of the day, that’s all we have left. Memories accompanied with lesson. This article was a lesson of a lifetime. So much so in fact, you could have told me Oprah had written it just for me and I would have believed you. The article speaks on your inner voice. I have upwards of 50 photo albums, 150+ home videos and numerous other keepsakes in different areas of my home. This article, it’s kept up in my closet in a box that host some of the most important things to me. It’s the lesson and choice that I’ve followed for many years. A choice that makes me feel loved and equally alone at times. Sometimes, even amongst my own family. Never-the-less, a choice I make, to listen to my inner voice and follow a road less travelled. A road I will call my own, no one else's. I am only a passer-by in this lifetime and it will be my own. Via a voice that will never steer me wrong.
‘Please, I beg of you, don’t ever come back here again. I was nice to you. I am a stranger and I stood for you, I stood when you least deserved it’.
Now, I don’t hold a master’s degree in sociology nor have I any idea on the likes of criminal psychology but, something strange happened, he acknowledged me. He said simply: 'ok'. It was one of those ‘not what you say but rather how you say it’ moments. Perhaps the fact he said anything at all was the initial suprise. In that moment I believed him. As I sit here writing this, I still believe. This is not some ‘divine’ connection between him and I, but in some ways, it was. He is a criminal who came with intent to violate me, I recognize this. What I also recognize is the significance in basic goodness. Apparently he is 'human enough' to recognize basic goodness as well. Just as the sign that hangs in our home that reads “Kindness Matters’, yes, it does. Even to those who sometimes least deserve it.
Years ago I came across an article written by Ophra. It's the only article I've ever had the nerve to quietly tear out of a magazine while sitting amongst a bunch of strangers. For anyone who knows me, they know I am a memorabilia fanatic. After all, at the end of the day, that’s all we have left. Memories accompanied with lesson. This article was a lesson of a lifetime. So much so in fact, you could have told me Oprah had written it just for me and I would have believed you. The article speaks on your inner voice. I have upwards of 50 photo albums, 150+ home videos and numerous other keepsakes in different areas of my home. This article, it’s kept up in my closet in a box that host some of the most important things to me. It’s the lesson and choice that I’ve followed for many years. A choice that makes me feel loved and equally alone at times. Sometimes, even amongst my own family. Never-the-less, a choice I make, to listen to my inner voice and follow a road less travelled. A road I will call my own, no one else's. I am only a passer-by in this lifetime and it will be my own. Via a voice that will never steer me wrong. 
As I lay in bed, now 5:30am, I was trying very hard to get back to sleep but I had far too many thoughts running through my head. Still asking the questions that i would never get answers for. Where was his mother? What kind of father did he have that lead him to where he is? Is it a relief in some regard to get caught? Because now, on this cold, first fallen winter night he has warmth? if even from the inside of a cell? Lastly, will he remember my words? In a world where it would have been easiest to treat him the way he’s always know, to join the men and treat him the way he deserves to be treated? Will he remember the stranger who came to his defense? I will remember. I will remember the lesson he taught me. The truth I’ve known all my life. For anyone that knows me personally, you’ll know a cliché I live by is: ‘Everything happens for a Reason’. Why did this happen? While walking through personal trying times of my own right now, did God send him to me? to validate that my truths in standing up for what’s right (no matter what the cost) are indeed, truths worth standing for? What was the lesson? Did the lesson belong to him instead? Was the lesson also a truth for him, that in a world where he stands alone, none of us are ever really alone. We both learnt, even the other three men. A lesson all in it's self for everyone involved and for that, I am blessed.
Dear friend, listen to your whispers, they are your truths. Stand for your own truth, no one else's. In this lifetime, it’s for certian, the one thing that will never (ever) steer you wrong is the inner voice that speaks. This much, I know is true.
Thank-you for allowing me to share my story. Please visit again, It is my hopes that I will never write anything that isnt worth your time in reading. I leave you with this quote, seemingly, fitting.
Until next time, much love.
Until next time, much love.
~MallyMay
Do not doubt your own basic goodness.
In spite of all confusion and fear, you are born with a heart
that knows what is just, loving, and beautiful.”
Jack Kornfield
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