They say a conservative is a liberal mugged by reality. Of course, if that were true, we would all be conservatives. But a mugging — or its less violent cousin, robbery — does have a way of modifying one’s world view.
I’ve lived on the ramshackle west side of Colorado Springs for over a decade now, and have never worried about either, though I take common-sense precautions: When I come home late, I park in front of the house instead of the dark driveway off the alley; I hide my laptop before leaving for work; and I try to keep the doors and windows locked if it’s not too hot.
But when I hear acquaintances warn my son about the dangers of my transitional neighborhood, I point out that the local news contains many stories of crime in other parts of town. People on the west side say hello to each other’s kids, pet each other’s dogs, and converse over fences and at the grocery store. Cyclists zoom by in Spandex, or amble, towing small trailers containing kids and dogs. Neighbors have outdoor parties because most of us don’t have enough room for gatherings inside.
We dread the onslaught of tourists during the summer street festivals in Old Colorado City. It’s not as expensive as Manitou Springs or the collection of mansions north of downtown, but lots of houses have been spruced up with paint, additions, or lovely gardens.
On a recent warm spring afternoon, I parked in front, and walked out the back door to empty the compost bucket. I saw an odd item in my unfenced backyard — a spiral of plastic-covered metal wire. In a few beats, I realized it was the bike lock that had fastened my two mountain bikes to an awning support on the patio. I dropped my bucket and walked to the patio, feeling stupid, because I already knew that the bikes wouldn’t be there.
Now, nobody had ridden them in at least a year, and they’d been parked long enough for the chain on one to be rusting, and for weeds to grow through the wheel of the other. I prefer my road bike (which I park, like a college student, in my living room).
Both bikes were at least 5 years old, but they were mine. I’d paid at least $1,000 for the pair, between the original purchases and the maintenance performed. Someone had walked into my yard with enough forethought to bring a cable cutter, stolen my property, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.
Except complain on Facebook, which brought advice to report the crime (I did) and to browse pawn shops (I have better things to do), as well as the realization that I probably don’t know anyone who has not been robbed. A friend had his truck tool box stolen from his driveway. Another allowed a stranger to use a bathroom, and later saw an heirloom necklace was missing. And lots of people lost bikes this way.
What got most broken, for me, is trust; I now wonder if my thrift-shop shirts and REI bike shorts are safe when I hang them to dry on the clothesline and leave to run an errand. No, being robbed didn’t turn me into a conservative. But crime is no longer an abstract, “perhaps he couldn’t help himself”event.
Life got a little more real, I guess.
Eva Syrovy teaches school in in Colorado Springs. She was a member of the 2010 Colorado Voices panel.
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