The Flamingos

Sam's youth group at church has been doing a fundraiser to raise money for a trip this summer. You may have heard of something like this... a flock of plastic flamingos are secretly placed in a person's yard with a note. For a donation to the youth group, the flamingos will be removed. For a slightly bigger donation, they can choose the next yard for the flamingos to go.

My son Sam was enthusiastic about this project, so he volunteered to be in charge of transporting the huge group of flamingos from yard to yard. Problem is, the flockmaster can't drive and needed a car to haul the 16 large plastic birds. Perry and I became involved in this project by default, so we have been on too many late-night-stealth-bird-placing-missions.

One night Perry was busy, so Sam and I packed the trunk and I dressed in black for the newest job. We had the address of the next targeted victim, a yard on a quiet street in town. I crept slowly down the street, straining to see the address numbers. Pausing in front of one house, I felt sure I'd found the correct place. It was curious to see the garage door open and outside lights on. Before I could park I was horrified to see the owner of this house, an older gentleman who used to be our town's mayor, a few yards away walking his dog and probably wondering what in the world we were up to.

With heart pounding, I drove off. Since it was a dead end street, of course I had to turn around and pass him again. That way he got an even better look at the shady characters in the suspicious looking blue Focus. (He was probably making a mental note of my license plate numbers and getting ready to call his friends at the police department.)

Sam and I laughed nervously as we waited a few more minutes before going back, hoping the lights would be off and we could get the job done. I longed for my other life back at home, where I lived innocently as an upstanding citizen who doesn't sneak around in the dark.

About a half hour later, we returned to the scene of the crime. I trolled nearly silently down the street with headlights off (I saw that in a spy movie once) and I parked in a neighbor's driveway. Trying to be quiet in the dark magnifies even the softest noises. I cringed at the click of the car door and the clank of the flamingos as we dodged behind bushes to set them up in the targeted yard. I kept my eyes on the house, straining to see a face in the window. I expected the lights to come on at any moment, the door would open and an accusing voice would boom across the yard as I died of embarrassment on the spot.

With relief, we poked the last flamingo in the grass, ran back to the car and escaped the scene without being noticed. Speeding back home, I felt more than ready to hand over the flock to another pre-teen's family in our youth group. They can live on the dark side now. I'll even give them my black face mask. I'm retiring from this shady lifestyle.