I’m not Catholic, but if I were (and we’ve all imagined ourselves in those confessionals we see in the movies) I would have to confess to stealing something when I was three.
Wait—Mormons get baptized when we’re eight—the age of accountability—so anything I did at age three is forgiven. Whew! But if I had to repent of theft, this would be the shameful event I would share.
My parents had decided to buy a swing set for my sister and me—she was eight, I was three. No, I did not steal a swing set.
But on the way to the swing sets in a giant department store, we passed the candy counter. And, lo and behold, the glass case was broken, and chocolates were just sitting there, five inches from my head as I walked by.
I reached out what was probably a chubby little fist, and grabbed some. I also realized immediately that this was wrong, and kept my hand clamped shut so no one would know of my dastardly deed. Of course the one thing I’ve ever stolen had to be chocolate—aaugh! Some things never change.
Well, not surprisingly, by the time we got to the swing sets the chocolate had melted and was oozing out my fingers. “What’s in your hand?” I was asked. Yikes. I kept it closed. Finally it was pried open and my dishonesty was revealed.
My parents were appalled. Even I was appalled, and I didn’t even know what appalled meant. I was severely reprimanded and my hand was cleaned off. But even worse, my consequence was not getting a swing set. This meant my sister didn’t get one, either. In fact, I never got a swing set.
This is how I avoided what was surely going to become a life of not-very-organized crime. I learned never to take what didn’t belong to me, and that our actions often affect others. Too bad it didn’t teach me to give up chocolate. Oh, well. Two out of three ain’t bad.
If all this chocolate talk has made you hungry, check out my humorous chick lit novel, Sisters in the Mix, which you can find here. It’s about a crazy lady with a cooking show, and wait ‘til you see what she does with chocolate.