I was visiting my grandma at my dad’s bar where she bartends one day a week when she, I, and the previously mentioned old grampa man had a discussion. She brought up how she never could have the heart to steal something. But, of course, every little kid has there first and only (?) stealing moment.
My grandma first told her story of being a little girl and stealing a penny from my great-grandma’s purse and buying penny candy (this probably dates her) with it. She distributed to her friends in the front yard and her mother caught her. She then had to sit in front of the mirror looking at her guilty little six-year-old face with a bar of soap on her tongue.
Yes, my grandma was friends with Laura Ingalls.
Then the old man (who’s name is Don btw) told his story:
He was at the store with his mother when he stole a red delicious apple. He brought the apple home in his pocket and ran to his basement to eat his prize. His grandmother (who was probably born in the 1600’s) caught him and made him bring it back to the store AND pay for it.
Aren’t these stories precious?
Well, that got me thinking… what was my story? I had to be just this cute and learn a life lesson from my experience…
I did…sort of.
I was about six as well and shopping with my grandma at the local mall. We were leaving one of the stores when my grandma grabbed me and said “What is under your shirt!?” I knew I was caught.
So did the saleswoman.
She had watched me as a little blonde-haired blue-eyed girl grab a fire-engine-red, lace thong and stuff it under my shirt.
Needless to say this wasn’t included in the family Christmas letter.