The Kindness And Thievery Of Strangers

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.