Break In

Yesterday morning as I trudged my tired body into my office to begin writing for the day, I discovered the french doors to our porch were pushed open. More annoyed than alarmed I tried to close the doors but couldn't. Something was wrong with the locks. The doors leading out to our first floor balcony have a series of four different crappy locks on them; three out of the four were busted. There were large chunks of wood taken out from where the doors had been forced open. The only lock that held was our small, tiny hook and eye latch! Surveying the damage it dawned on me that this was not a gust of wind...someone had tried to break in.

So, I called Josh to do a "I'm-not-paranoid" check. He affirmed I was not paranoid (about this) and gave the okay to call the police. I then called my dad, a police officer (albeit in Cincinnati), to do a second "Will-they-think-I'm-crazy" check. My dad did not think the police would think I was off balance and said this is a very normal, routine call that the police make on a daily basis. It should be reported. I made him tell me word for word what I should say...so as not to sound, you know, crazy.

"I'm calling to report an attempted break-in at our home and would like an officer to come and take a look at it."

"I'm calling to report an attempted break-in at our home and would like an officer to come and take a look at it."

"I'm calling to report an attempted break-in at our home and would like an officer to come and take a look at it."

Got it.

"Yes, hello, I'm calling to report an attempted break-in at our home and would like an officer to come and take a look at it."

It took a while for the officer to respond, apparently all the detectives were busy. When finally they sent a patrol officer, he was quite astounded by our utter lack of secure locks. "Has it always been this unsecure? You don't have any other locks? Who owns this house anyway?"

(Here we digressed into an ecclesiological question of women's ordination because he just couldn't believe I was a pastor.)

Clearly we had been living on the brink of a break-in all this time. Who knew?

I have to admit I am not one for uber-tight home security. After living in Nicaragua and hearing thieves run across the roof at night, watching hands grope through bars for anything portable, and having more than a few dogs poisoned, break-ins seemed normal. Nothing to be afraid of...it just happens...IN NICARAGUA!

I never imagined anyone would want to break in to our home. We don't have anything of value. We live in a safe neighborhood. There are street lights all over. We have two large, barky dogs. (Unfortunately, we have trained them not to bark at noises of intruders...lest our upstairs neighbor be barked at every time he comes home. This would be the only lesson they get right!)

While Josh is furious at the intrusion, I am more amazed at my lack of foresight than actually afraid or even angry. I was wrong. Someone did want to break in our home. I guess my dad was right after all these years. You should lock your doors.

The problem is I hate the concept of locked doors. It creates an atmosphere of fear and makes your home seem more like a fortress than a dwelling place. I want a home that is welcoming and open (literally) for friends to drop by when they want. I suppose I also still have a little of my Nica attitude left...if they need my stuff so badly, let them have it. It's only stuff after all. When Julie and I lived in Lynn we never locked our front door and that was LYNN (Lynn, Lynn city of sin; you never go out the way you came in). When we lived in Winthrop I would pretend to lock the doors to make Josh feel better but still let me have the feeling of being open. And since we moved to Somerville I like to keep our apartment door to the hallway open, just in case our upstairs neighbor needs to borrow something or wants to play with the dogs.

You would think being a police officer's daughter I would know better. Perhaps it is time I need to re-think my literal openness and be more serious about the possibility of theft. When I think about what could have been stolen, I am horrified at the prospect of losing my research and writing...that's probably the only thing of value I have!

However reluctant I am to lock-up, perhaps its time. I'm off to lock the doors.