Old Biker Kept Breaking Into My Yard To Fix My Fence And I Called The Cops On Him Several Times

That night, Earl sat at my kitchen table with me and my kids. Maya and her little brother Danny, who was five, peppered him with questions.

“Do you really ride a motorcycle?”

“Yes ma’am, I do.”

“Is it loud?”

“Very loud.”

“Why do you have such a long beard?”

“Because I’m too lazy to shave.”

The kids giggled. Earl smiled. And for the first time, I saw something other than sadness in his eyes.

November came. The fence was almost done. Just a few sections left.

But something else was happening too. Earl had become part of our lives.

He’d show up for dinner twice a week. Started helping with other things around the house. Fixed the leaky faucet I’d been ignoring for two years. Patched a hole in the roof. Taught Danny how to use a screwdriver safely.

My kids adored him. They’d run to the window when they heard his motorcycle coming. “Mr. Earl’s here! Mr. Earl’s here!”

One night after the kids were in bed, Earl and I sat on the porch drinking coffee.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

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