My Explorer and the Mysterious Vandal

Before I write my story today I need to make one thing perfectly clear. When I mention the words Puerto Rican in my story I am not demeaning them or their culture. We have three dearly loved sons who are of Puerto Rican descent, our precious granddaughter Destiny is as well, and we have had other children of Puerto Rican descent whom we have dearly loved when they were in our home. I have become involved in some of their biological families and feel quite at home and accepted among them. In fact, my husband Dick, with his curly hair and distinctive features, has been assumed to be Puerto Rican by some who did not know that those sons were not born to us! Now let me get on with my story for this week.

My Explorer and the Mysterious Vandal

When we bought our Explorer a number of years ago we were teased by Dick's co-workers that apparently it was previously owned by Puerto Ricans because it had so much extra chrome on it. If that was the case, I was glad they owned it previously because I liked all that extra chrome.

However, in the spring of 2004 I wasn't so sure about that. Our son Jeremy owned a house in Lancaster City that he was planning to sell in preparation for his move to Florida. Dick and I spent many evenings helping him with painting, etc. before he sold it. I would go home from school, prepare a meal which I would take along to Jeremy's, Dick would go to Jeremy's house straight from work, we would eat together and get busy working. Many evenings our son Frank was there to help as well.

The very first evening we were there to help him (sometime in March) I stayed later than Dick did. When I walked to my car (the Explorer), which I had parked at the Wachovia Bank parking lot nearby, I was stunned to realize that the passenger window behind the driver's seat had been smashed in. As we waited for the police to arrive (which I don't think they ever did because they were too involved in a murder that had just happened) we realized that my digital camera had been stolen. Stupid me - I had brought it along to take "before" pictures of Jeremy's house, but had forgotten to take it in and had left it right on the seat behind me.

A few weeks later, when Dick and I walked out to that same bank parking lot after an evening's work, we were stunned and disgusted again to discover that a back tire on my Explorer and a back tire on his pick-up truck had been slashed. We were parked next to each other, and it was our back tires that were facing each other that were slashed. We began to wonder if we had some enemies that we were unaware of. Once again we reported it to the police.

At the beginning of June, on the last evening that I was painting, right before the sale of his house, I walked out to my Explorer, again in that bank parking lot. Unbelievably, my window was smashed in and my stereo had been ripped out of the dash. Jeremy was so mad, because in the two years he had lived there, every one of his friends had parked there and no one had ever experienced vandalism. He and I drove it down to the police station as they told us to do. This time the policeman tried to get some finger prints. As he worked we discussed the mystery of it. He told us, just as we had been told before, that they NEVER got calls about vandalism in that parking lot. It was well lit, with major streets on both sides of it. The policeman asked (again) if we had someone that was mad at us for something. We assured him we could think of absolutely nobody. He said, "Maybe someone thinks that the car belongs to somebody else. It DOES look like a pimp wagon." Well, Jeremy and I just CRACKED UP!!

The mystery was never solved. Our son Frank tried to persuade me to park there again just so he could hide somewhere and catch them in the act. But I was afraid he was a little to eager to become a hero!!

For another year I, the good Christian grandma worship leader, continued to drive that pimp wagon until I graduated to a more appropriate old lady's Buick and left the pimp wagon driving to my husband!!