It Wasn’t About the Flag—It Was About Belonging
When I moved into my new home in a quiet town, I brought a small flag with me. It wasn’t meant to make a statement—it was just a way to make an unfamiliar place feel a little more like home. New house. New neighbors. I was the newcomer, and everyone knew it.
The flag wasn’t large. Just a modest one, mounted near my porch. So I was stunned when, one Tuesday morning, I stepped outside to find it gone.
In its place was a sticky note and a twenty-dollar bill. No name. Just five words: “Nothing personal. Hope this covers it.”
I stood there, mug in hand, trying to make sense of it. I wasn’t angry, not really. Just… disappointed. Because someone had looked at something personal and quietly decided it didn’t belong.
I hadn’t expected to blend in immediately. I wasn’t from here. I’d moved from Arizona after retiring—just looking for a bit of peace. I waved to neighbors. I mowed my lawn. I kept to myself. Still, this was the welcome I got.
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