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I became a citizen of Hastings two and a half years ago. The excitement of a new job brought me happily from one small, quiet Nebraska community to another. Since the first night I spent in my town home, I have always felt at ease in this community. Ever a sense of safety and being surrounded by people I consider good neighbors. Hastings is a community that when asked about, nearly every resident will remark “it’s a nice, safe town—a great place to raise your family.”

Several weeks ago a concrete boulder crashed through the secure, snow globe life I had been living here…literally.

My day was going splendidly. It was Tuesday and a short week because of the Thanksgiving holiday and we were making preparations for our office Thanksgiving Feast—an event planned to thank our hard-working staff for their dedication throughout the past year. My mind was fluttering between the excitement of socializing with my co-workers and thinking forward to spending the holiday with my husband and loved ones out of town. I parked my car and proceeded to unload the food I had prepared for our event. First the cranberry cheesecake and then I would come back for the roaster full of potatoes. The cheesecake made its debut to the party unscathed and I was on my second trip. Realizing there wasn’t room in my arms for both my purse and the potatoes, I made the decision to come back for my bag, locked the car and scurried inside.

Once inside I became busy and consumed with the festivities, even taking time to give a tour to a prospective member so that our front desk staff could enjoy the party.  Nearly an hour and a half later, while beginning to clean up, I approached the front desk. “Someone said there is a white car—a Cadillac—outside with a piece of concrete through the window,” said a co-worker. All I could think was “wow, that’s too bad. I wonder whose car that is?” “Here is the license plate number,” said the co-worker. I was in shock. On the tattered piece of notebook paper staring up at me was my license plate number and I drive a white Chrysler (not a Cadillac).

My heart and my stomach switched places. I couldn’t grasp what was happening. And soon enough, as I stood next to my car, staring at a concrete boulder the size of a basketball laying next  to my car with shattered glass all around, my synapses connected—I had been robbed. On the front seat where my brown leather bag had been there was emptiness. And that is what I felt inside. I couldn’t make up my mind to cry or be angry. However ,common sense took over as I raced inside to call my bank and credit card company to freeze my accounts. In the meantime someone had called the Hastings Police Department and they were sending an officer.

The rest of the day was a blur. An officer responded and took down my information, but there wasn’t much they could do and he did help us look through some dumpsters and trash barrels that were close by in case the thieves had pitched my bag. After taking the car to have the glass vacuumed out and then taking it home, my husband and I drove around for several hours and I am quite sure we’re now personally acquainted with every trash can and dumpster in a three-mile radius.  I was exhausted and emotional.

The spectrum of emotions bouncing around in my system that afternoon and evening were wide-ranging. I was angry with myself for leaving my bag in my car. I had known better. I was angry at the people who took my bag. Who could do something like this? I also felt a great deal of sadness. In that bag was a rosary that belonged to my late grandmother and a blue rosary that my grandmother gave me to hold as my “something blue” on my wedding day. Also gone was my camera, filled with photos yet to be transferred to my computer—photos of family get-togethers, events with friends and special memories. In my heart I know they are just things, but they were things that held meaning in my life.

More than anything, that snow globe life I had been living in Hastings was shattered. That evening when we drove home my mind made every car that passed and every stranger I met suspect. When leaving for our long Thanksgiving weekend with family we left lights on at the house. These people—these thieves— know my name, my address, my face.

On our trip to and from Thanksgiving I had time to reflect (our family was in Scottsbluff, Nebraska so needless to say I had a lot of time). This theft made me question the safety of the life I live in Hastings. It made me question my community. Before this, I had never thought twice about break-ins and thieves and such crime. Are we (and our property) safe in Hastings?

If you are wondering about the conclusion I came to after my hours of reflection, it is this: one bad apple may spoil the bunch, but only if you let it. I truly believe Hastings is a great community, a safe community. I believe it is filled with people I consider good neighbors. If I were to label the entire community as “bad” or “unsafe” based on the foul actions of a few individuals, I would be spoiling my vision of the entire community. My choice? To throw these bad apples out. And if I need a good garbage can or dumpster…well, I happen to know a few.

What are your thoughts on how safe Hastings is? Share your experiences by leaving me a comment.

About the author: Kelly Miller

Kelly is a wife, career woman and self-proclaimed fashionista who lives by the mantra, "laugh, love and live life with style." Her love affair with all things stylish began early--raiding her mother's makeup drawers as a little girl and organizing a number of well-attended Barbie fashion shows in her parents' living room. She believes that beauty is all around and enjoys helping others find their personal style. Kelly works as a marketing professional in Hastings with her husband, Scott and their tuxedo cat Dart.