Several years ago, while all three of our children were college students, I discovered that Ruth and I had raised a den of thieves. This is not my proudest moment as a story-teller but facts are facts. Several months ago, when I began my new story telling blogging career, I pledged to only tell true stories. So this is another true tale (as I remember it).
The best thing about having three children within a span of three years and four months is that they have grown up together and are good friends as well as siblings. They enjoy each other’s company and have a shared loved for their spouses. Like most brothers and sisters they have their share of differences, but thievery is a common trait.
One Saturday morning while all three were away at college (I refer to these years as My Broke Decade.) I was working in the yard and decided it was time for lunch. Ruth was gone for the day. I came in to make a sandwich and discovered that the refrigerator was bare. My only option was tuna fish. Fortunately, I like tuna fish.
I chopped a bit of onion, found jars of pickle relish and mayonnaise in the frig, and pulled a can of tuna from the pantry. I went to the drawer to retrieve the can opener and discovered it was gone. I knew we had an older one in a drawer in the basement, but I discovered it was gone as well. When I went to retrieve the automatic can opener that Ruth had stored with our other pots and pans that had been pulled from service, and discovered it was missing too, I knew that I was in trouble. All useful options had vanished.
My frustration grew to temporary anger. I realized that my house had been robbed by my three thieving college kids. Don’t get me wrong. There were dozens of other items that had gone unaccounted, but never a trifecta of this magnitude. I was hungry and the only thing to eat in our entire house was tuna trapped in an unopened can. Sure, I know what your thinking. Why not just make a concoction of onion, pickle relish and mayonnaise and spread it on bread? I could have, but such a step would have been barbaric.
I dug deep into my soul and retrieved a different type of can opener. It was the old school type better suited for punching holes in cans. I placed the can in the kitchen sink, held it tightly, and with each plunge into the can I spoke slowly and distinctly to myself.
“I … am …fifty …three … years… old … and … I …make … a… good… wage. I…have…provided…well…for… my…family…yet …here…I …am…punch…ing…holes…in…a…can …of…tuna … because… I …have… raised…a…den…of…thieves.”
I got the can open, made my sandwich, and went back to my yard-work. It was a beautiful fall afternoon. While I raked leaves, I expect that my thieving children were tailgating at a football game, drinking beer, and eating brats. Such is the life of a college student.
I vowed as I raked to get even one day. That day is still coming.