First, I’m awakened by a loud crack that sounds an awful lot like a cannon. I stumble out of bed to see neon green flares flying down the street in front of my house.

My wife, fearful we’re under some kind of attack, literally falls out of bed, bruising her knee on the storage chest at the end of our bed.

Three nights later, we’re awakened in the middle of the night again. This time, it’s the front door bell.

My wife gets out of bed before me this time, deftly avoiding the chest before she tentatively peers through the blinds.

“It’s the police,” she whispers.

“The police?”

I slip out of bed and look out the window just to make sure my wife isn’t suffering some delusion brought on by nightmares of the ‘cannon’ fire from a few nights earlier.

It was the police all right. At 2 a.m., a visit from the police can never be a good thing. Our hearts pound as we wonder who may be hurt — who may be in trouble.

A few seconds later, we get what I consider good news compared to the other options.

“You’re car has been broken in to,” the officer tells me.

Well, technically it wasn’t actually broken in to. Like an idiot, I left the doors unlocked. The thieves left the passenger-side door wide open after they swiped about $8 in Canadian Tire money (there goes the garden weasel I was saving up for), my Visa card and cell phone.

Always one to put a good light on things, I tell my wife we’ll save money because I no longer have a credit card or cellphone.

This, of course, does not dissuade my wife from reminding me that, indeed, I am an idiot for leaving my car doors unlocked. I concur, especially since I’ve edited dozens of stories about police warning homeowners to keep their cars doors locked. The lastest came after a bunch of cars in Belle Ewart were broken into two weeks ago. Yes, editors can be idiots, too.

Perhaps a complete buffoon is a better description considering we were blasted out of bed by cannon fire just a few nights earlier. The connection?

TEENAGERS!

That first night, when we were so rudely awaken at about 2 a.m., I could vaguely make out a couple of teens  firing off those long cannon firecrackers. But instead of shooting them straight in the air, they fired them along the street like a rifle.

It’s true I have no irrefutable evidence it was  teens who helped themselves to the stuff in my car, but neighbours who got the same treatment agree it’s almost guaranteed.

I live near a park,  so it’s easy for thieves to grab the stuff and slip into the cover of nearby darkness.
It seems some teenagers have nothing better to do. Isn’t that what some apologists for out-of-control teens say: “There’s nothing for them to do so they get into trouble.”

I might buy that argument at a decent hour. Of course there’s nothing to do at 2 a.m. There isn’t supposed to be. You’re supposed to be asleep, or at least snuggled up at home watching TV. If you’re bored at 2 a.m., try going to sleep. Firing off firecrackers or ripping off your neighbours isn’t an acceptable option.

Now I eye the dozens of teenagers around my neighbourhood with suspicion. Which one of you has my $8 in Canadian Tire money, I wonder? So far, I haven’t seen any teens flashing Sandy McTire bills around the neighbourhood. Something tells me it isn’t considered cool. But disrupting the sleep of your average hardworking middle-class family with firecrackers and burglary isn’t cool in my books either.

Those who know me from my teenage years may be saying, ‘Hey Vanderlinde, you were no angel.’

True. I did stuff. I jumped the fence at Bradford’s Lions pool for a midnight dip a couple of times.

And a buddy and me wandered around inside our old public school in the middle of the night once when we discovered a window had been left open.

There were other episodes of teenage mischief. But we always had this unspoken rule. No stealing, no vandalism.

That stuff just ain’t cool.