How do you say thank you to someone who steals sixty bucks
from you? I’m still trying to figure that out.
Richard McKendrick lives his life adhering to a strict moral
code. He abstains from alcohol and
tobacco, steers clear of R-rated movies, but when it comes to where he puts his
wallet, the guy is fast and loose. The
question, “Honey, have you seen my wallet?” has sent my heart racing more than
once. Usually, the answer is that it’s
hidden in his car, and I breathe a sigh of relief. But recently, Rich asked me that
stress-inducing question and, after hunting in the usual places, his wallet remained
lost.
After searching for the hundredth time, I threw my hands in
the air. “How much cash were you
carrying?” I asked.
Rich bit his lip. “Sixty
bucks.”
I sighed, relieved it wasn’t more. But still, it was sixty bucks, and I started
to think of all the things that money would have bought, not that I was particularly
needing anything. But still, instead of
losing it, we could have gone out to dinner, or bought a pair of shoes. We could have subscribed to Architectural
Digest or laundered Rich's shirts. There were lots of things we could have done,
but we weren’t going to do them, at least not with that sixty bucks. It was gone,
and so Rich canceled his cards and bought a wallet.
Later that week, a crumpled envelope with no return address arrived
in the mail.
My first thought, of course, was someone has sent my husband
Anthrax.
Rich is in the business of ticking people off. When the other side is hacked that often means he’s doing his job. More than once he’s made the opposing side so
mad I’ve wanted to purchase him a bullet-proof vest. But Anthrax takes skill to acquire and
whoever sent the envelope spelled Richard without a D…so...chances
were good the envelope wasn’t toxic.
Skipping the HAZMAT suit, I held my breath and ripped open
the envelope. I was prepared to jump
back at the first sight of a chalky substance, but there was no need. Inside the envelope was Rich’s wallet.
And it was there! The
wallet I’d given him for his fiftieth birthday, his swipey thingy that lets him
get into the courthouse, his credit cards, his license. All of it was there! Well, except the money.
The sixty bucks that would have touched up my roots, that
was gone.
Yep, gone.
During family night, I told the kids a parable about a man
and his wallet, and asked them at the end the question, “Was the person honest
who returned the wallet?”
“Yes,” said Charlotte, as she scrolled through Instagram.
“That’s honest,” said Scarlett, playing with slime.
“There's this kid at school I want to punch in the face,” said Peter.
“Why would you say that?” I asked.
“Because it's honest,” he said.
"Kids!" I cried. A
person found your dad’s wallet, sent it in the mail (with insufficient postage)
but kept the money inside. Do you think
that was the right thing to do?"
Their eyes narrowed as comprehension dawned. “He stole from us!" they cried.
"But he returned the wallet," I said.
"I don't know what I think," said Scarlett.
"I know what I think," said Peter, "let's go get ice cream!"
And so we went and got ice cream. Not sixty buck's worth, of course, but we got ice cream.
