All old Harold cared about in his remaining years were his car and his privacy, but both now seemed at risk after new Asian neighbors moved in. One night, he caught a teenage boy trying to open his car, and from that moment, his solitary life changed forever.
Harold sat on his creaky porch, the paint peeling from the wooden railing, his scowl as deep as the furrows in his weathered face.
The late afternoon sun glared down, reflecting off the hood of his 1970 Plymouth Barracuda, making its cherry-red paint glow like embers.
The car had been his pride and joy for decades, a tangible reminder of his younger, more vibrant days.
But today, Harold wasn’t basking in nostalgia. His gaze was fixed on the commotion across the street.
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His new neighbors—a bustling Asian family—were unloading boxes from a moving truck.
Kids dashed around the driveway, shrieking and laughing, while a dog yapped incessantly.
A grandmother in a wide-brimmed hat waved instructions in a language Harold didn’t understand.
“Can’t they do anything quietly?” Harold muttered, his words a growl as he took a bitter sip of his lukewarm coffee.
Needing an escape, Harold pushed himself up from the chair, wincing as his stiff knees protested.
He shuffled toward his garage, muttering under his breath about the state of the world. Starting the Barracuda, he reversed it onto the driveway with a low, throaty rumble.
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He knew the engine’s growl was loud enough to turn heads, and that’s exactly what he wanted.
As he began unwinding the hose to wash his car, a voice called out, breaking his solitude.
“Wow! Is that a ‘70 Barracuda?”
Harold turned, startled to see a skinny teenage boy standing near the curb.
The boy’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, and his face was lit with the kind of awe Harold hadn’t seen in years.
“Yeah, it is,” Harold said curtly, already regretting engaging.
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“Does it have the 440 engine? A Six Pack?” the boy asked, stepping closer, his excitement bubbling over. “How’d you keep it in such good shape? I mean, it’s pristine!”
Harold grunted, turning his attention back to the car.
“It’s just maintenance,” he said flatly, hoping the boy would take the hint and leave.
But the boy, introducing himself as Ben, didn’t. He kept firing questions, his enthusiasm unrelenting.
He asked about the car’s history, its restoration, and its performance. Harold’s responses grew shorter, his patience wearing thinner with each passing second.
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“Kid, don’t you have something better to do?” Harold snapped, narrowing his eyes at the boy.
Ben hesitated, his smile fading slightly.
“I just really love classic cars,” he said softly. “My dad used to—”
“Enough!” Harold barked, turning to face him fully. “Go home and leave me alone!”
Ben’s shoulders slumped, and he muttered, “Sorry, sir,” before shuffling away.
Harold shook his head and turned back to his car, scrubbing harder than necessary.
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But as much as he tried, he couldn’t quite shake the image of the boy’s hopeful face. It lingered like a faint echo, reminding him of something he couldn’t quite name.
Harold was jolted awake by the unmistakable sound of clanging metal. It wasn’t subtle—it was the kind of noise that didn’t belong in the stillness of the night.
His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, he lay there, listening.
Then, with a groan, he reached for the baseball bat leaning against his nightstand.
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His heart pounded as he slipped on his slippers and shuffled toward the garage, the cold night air prickling his skin.
He paused at the garage door, holding his breath as he heard muffled voices and the distinct rustling of tools. Gritting his teeth, Harold flipped on the light.
“Hey! Get outta here!” he roared, his voice slicing through the chaos.
Three teenage boys froze like deer caught in headlights.
One was hunched over the steering wheel of his prized Barracuda, while another rifled through his neatly organized tools.
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The third stood near the hood, his face partially obscured by the shadow of his hoodie.
The two boys closest to the car bolted without a word, vanishing into the darkness. Harold barely noticed.
His eyes locked onto the third boy, who had slipped on an oil patch and fallen hard onto the concrete floor.
“Not so fast,” Harold growled, marching over and grabbing the boy’s arm. He hauled him to his feet, and the boy’s hood fell back, revealing a familiar face.
“Ben?” Harold’s voice was incredulous and angry all at once.
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“Please, sir,” Ben stammered, his face pale and his hands shaking. “I didn’t mean to—I was—”
“Save it,” Harold snapped, his grip firm. “You’re coming with me.”
Still clutching Ben’s arm, Harold marched him across the street and banged loudly on the door of the boy’s house.
After a moment, the door creaked open, and Ben’s parents appeared, their faces groggy and confused.
“They don’t speak much English,” Ben mumbled, his eyes glued to the floor.
“Then you’re going to tell them exactly what you did,” Harold said, his voice cold and commanding.
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Ben hesitated, then began translating, his voice trembling as he explained what had happened.
His parents’ faces fell, their expressions a mix of shame and dismay.
Bowing repeatedly, they murmured apologetic phrases in their native language, their gestures sincere.
Harold let go of Ben, pointing a finger at the boy. “Next time, I won’t hesitate to call the cops. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Ben murmured, his head bowed low.
Harold turned and stomped back to his house, his adrenaline slowly fading. He collapsed into his armchair, staring at the car keys he had left on the table.
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The image of Ben’s pale, terrified face lingered in his mind, unsettling him. Somehow, his anger didn’t feel as satisfying as it should have.
The next morning, Harold was startled from his coffee by the sound of clinking metal on his porch.
Grumbling, he got up and opened the door to a surprising sight: Ben’s grandmother and mother, both balancing trays of steaming food, carefully arranging them on the steps.
“What’s all this?” Harold asked, his tone sharp.
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“Listen, I don’t need—what’s all this for?”
The women looked up at him nervously, bowing their heads slightly. Their smiles were polite but hesitant, and they didn’t say a word.
Harold waved his hands awkwardly, trying to shoo them away.
“It’s fine. You don’t need to do this,” he sputtered.
They continued their work undeterred, gesturing to the trays with small, encouraging nods. Harold sighed, stepping aside and muttering under his breath, “No one listens anymore.”
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As they finished and disappeared back across the street, Ben appeared, shuffling up to the porch with his head low.
His face was flushed, and he avoided Harold’s gaze. Suddenly, he knelt down, bowing deeply.
“I’m sorry for what I did,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”
Harold crossed his arms, his scowl deepening, but his voice lacked its usual edge. “Kid, get up. You don’t have to do this.”
Ben didn’t move. “Please,” he insisted. “Let me fix this.”
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Harold sighed heavily. “Fine. Wash the car. And don’t scratch it.”
As Harold returned inside, he eyed the trays of food warily before sitting down to pick at the unfamiliar dishes.
Through the window, he watched Ben working diligently on the Barracuda, the boy’s careful movements a stark contrast to the chaos of the night before.
After some time, Harold stepped back outside. “You did a decent job,” he admitted gruffly. “For a guy who tried to get into it last night.”
“Thanks,” Ben replied, drying his hands on a rag. He hesitated before speaking again.
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“The truth is… those guys made me do it. They said I’d be a coward if I didn’t help. They knew I know a lot about cars.”
Harold frowned. “Why didn’t you tell your parents that?”
Ben shrugged, looking down.
“It’s hard enough being new here. If I snitched, people would make fun of my sister. She’s finally starting to fit in.”
Harold studied him, his face softening.
“You’re a good kid, Ben. You just have bad taste in friends.”
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Ben nodded, finishing the job. As Harold watched him clean up, he surprised himself by saying, “Come on in. Let’s eat before all this food gets cold.”
Ben’s eyes widened slightly, but he smiled. “Thanks, sir.”
Harold waved him inside, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
That evening, he sat in his recliner, a cup of tea cooling on the side table. The soft hum of crickets filled the air, but a commotion outside drew his attention.
He leaned toward the window, pulling the curtain aside, and his sharp eyes spotted Ben down the street.
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The boy was backed against a fence by the same two teens who had fled Harold’s garage that night.
Harold squinted, his knuckles tightening on the curtain. The taller of the two boys jabbed a finger at Ben, his voice carrying through the quiet.
“We’re not taking the fall for this! You better fix it.”
Ben’s shoulders slumped as he hesitated, then reluctantly handed over a set of keys. He pointed toward Harold’s garage, his expression filled with shame.
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The two teens grinned, their laughter cutting through the stillness as they swaggered toward the garage.
Harold’s lips pressed into a thin line as he grabbed his jacket and headed outside.
Staying hidden in the shadows, he waited until the boys disappeared inside his garage.
Then, with a deliberate stride, he approached the building, flanked by a police officer he’d called earlier.
“Evening, boys,” Harold said coolly, flipping on the garage lights.
The two teens froze, their grins vanishing as the officer stepped forward. “Hands where I can see them,” the officer commanded.
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The boys stammered, their bravado crumbling as they were cuffed and led toward the patrol car.
Ben stood nearby, watching the scene with a conflicted expression. Harold approached him, his voice steady but firm.
“You did the right thing, kid,” he said. “Criminals need to learn their lessons early. Better they fix their lives now than ruin them later.”
Ben nodded, a look of relief washing over his face. “I wasn’t sure if…” He trailed off, searching Harold’s face.
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Harold patted Ben’s shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle.
“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I could use someone like you to help me with the car. You interested?”
Ben’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah, but don’t let it go to your head,” Harold said with a smirk.
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“And maybe, if you prove yourself, this car could be yours one day.”
Ben’s grin spread wide, and for the first time in years, Harold felt a flicker of pride he thought he’d never feel again.
Together, they walked back to the house, the night quieter than it had been in years.
Tell us what you think about this story, and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.
If you enjoyed this story, read this one: “Perfect neighbor”—that was Julia’s dream title. She wanted to be a role model for other women in the community. Imagine her face when she saw her mother ride a Harley-Davidson into the driveway. Pure embarrassment nearly drove Julia to the point of kicking her mother out, but the truth stopped her.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
“There’s not one piece that I didn’t go out and buy or that I can’t tell you a story about.”
Millionaires are Jamie Lee Curtis and her spouse Christopher Guest. However, for the past 30 years, the famous couple has made the decision to reside in the same stunning home.
In December 2022, Jamie Lee Curtis and Christopher Guest celebrated their 38th wedding anniversary. Throughout their marriage, they have resided in the same home. Annie and Ruby, their children, grew up in the beautiful house.
Jamie Lee Curtis is a Hollywood royalty, descended from actor Tony Curtis and actress Janet Leigh. She developed a prosperous acting career by following in their footsteps and starring in beloved films like “Halloween” and “Freaky Friday.”
Curtis has received recognition for her exceptional acting abilities throughout her career. She was previously nominated for a Golden Globe for the sitcom “Anything But Love.” She was raised in Los Angeles, first as an adult and subsequently with her parents.
Curtis is one of the few well-known writers who has won over critics and book lovers in addition to her acting profession. She became well-known for writing children’s books when she released “When I Was Little: A Four-Year-Old’s Memoir of Her Youth” in 1993.
Books that her kids inspired
Actor-Filmmaker Christopher Guest is credited by Curtis with inspiring her two children. The basis for her second novel, “Tell Me Again About The Night I Was Born,” which was released in 1996, came from the adoption of their oldest child, Annie.
She co-wrote the New York Times best-selling book “Today I Feel Silly and Other Moods That Make My Day” two years later. She wrote “Is There Really a Human Race?” in 2006, drawing inspiration from Ruby, her adoptive daughter.
HER MATERNITY WITH CHRISTIPH GUEST
Since 1984, Curtis and her spouse have been joined in marriage. She has expressed her gratitude to the man countless times, and she is thrilled to spend the rest of her life with him. On their 36th anniversary of marriage, she wrote:
“My hand is in his.” Both then and now. Our children, families, and friends were the connections in our emotional chain, guiding us through both success and failure.
Curtis previously talked candidly about the instant she realized she would marry Guest. The actress made it real when she saw his photo in a Rolling Stone publication in 1984, right before the premiere of “This Is Spinal Tap.”
The actress claimed that she gestured to a picture of Guest sporting a plaid shirt. She pointed at him and informed her companion that she would marry that man even though she had never seen him before.
Curtis decided to take a chance and called Guest’s agent the very following day. If Guest was interested, she asked him to phone her and gave him his number.
Sadly, he never phoned, and she continued living her life and dating other men. She drove to Hugo’s restaurant in West Hollywood after they broke up. She looked up there and noticed Guest three tables away.
She waved back to Guest when he had finished waving. He raised his hand and gave a shrug as he stood up to go. He phoned her the very next day, and they went on their first date a few days later.
After a few months, Guest took a plane to New York City to record “Saturday Night Live” for a whole year. They were totally enamored with one another at the time, and they haven’t looked back.
The 1920s Spanish Colonial Revival house that Curtis entered in 1992 would end up being her first residence. Regarding the interior design of the home, the actress said, “There’s not one piece that I didn’t go out and buy or that I can’t tell you a story about,” acknowledging that at the time she thought she could make any place beautiful.
For Guest, however, it was not. Curtis revealed that he would frequently display disdain in his facial expressions when house hunting. But he was different for this particular property.
He began examining the eucalyptus trees around the house and its terracotta roof tiles before concluding that they ought to buy it. He would subsequently say that the home’s park-like environment had pleased him.
Despite being built in 1929, the house had not been modified when the previous owners moved in. As a result, they enlisted Jan McFarland Cox’s assistance to revitalize the house, which is now light and spacious.
The house is filled with traces of Curtis’s two children. She combined aspects of a more modern zen design with those of an ancient traditional Mediterranean home.
Curtis and Guest’s belief that fusing old and new is an integral part of who they are is reflected in the home. The home serves as an inspiration for the children’s book author to produce works of art.
The couple worked with architect Michael B. Lehrer and his wife Mia on renovations and landscape design while they were renovating the home before moving in. Before remodeling the master bedroom and bathroom, they started on adding bedrooms for their kids.
After remodeling the basement level, Lehrer opened up the kitchen to create a family area—a location that Curtis refers to as “the emotional center of the house.” She asked Cox to design interiors that highlighted the Mediterranean roots of the home.
Curtis and Guest are positive that they have brought happiness into the house. “I think it’s like anything: it’s a work in progress,” a guest once said. This house will continue to exist.
It’s true that Curtis uses wall art, hanging fabric dividers, and kitchen towels to hang inspirational sayings to keep the home lively. Timeless hardwood furnishings that maintain the Mediterranean aesthetic perfectly complement their home’s light and airy ambiance.
Curtis and Guest created a devoted household, but they also shared a profound understanding of what it meant to be “home” with one another. When I pull up and see that you are home, I feel protected, the actress once wrote a song for her husband.
She feels that the song’s words, despite their simplicity, perfectly capture what it means to be in a long marriage. She values the security that comes from knowing her spouse is home and that she is not by herself.
Now that they are empty nesters, Curtis and Guest take solace in their time spent together. Their daughter Ruby changed from her prior identity as Thomas, and their oldest daughter Annie is now married.
At the age of 25, Ruby, the second of Curtis’s two children with Guest, made the decision to transition. With Ruby teaching her to reject the notion that gender is fixed, Curtis is ecstatic for her children.
Ruby married in 2022 in the same manner that Annie is already married. Curtis was pleased to announce that she presided over her daughter’s wedding.
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