We’ve all committed sins, done many things for which we are not proud, some for which we still feel guilt and others we do not. We walk around with secrets that we try to bury within ourselves, act like they never really happened. No one really suspects we’ve done these wrongs to ourselves and others, but we know, don’t we.
It’s written that most every person has stolen something in their lives. It can be as simple as a box of paper clips or ink pens from work, but technically it’s still theft if it’s for personal use. Last week I wrote about my wife’s tendency to steal small furry rodents and I’ve stolen more than just a dime, (as I wrote about in this story), but this story is about stealing from me. I’ve had things stolen from me as a kid. On every occasion, every single time it happened, it ended up being someone I knew and trusted (at the time). I have a few of these short stories to share and am writing each one as they occurred in my childhood. In case you’re new to the site, my first exposure of a friend stealing from me was an attempted theft of a couple of coins way back when I was only 5 or 6 years old. Here’s the link
There might have been other times, but the next one I remember happened in 8th grade at school; WJHS, Wilson Junior High School. I’ve written a few stories mentioning junior high and overall, I’d have to say that they were my most fun years at school, (except maybe for sixth grade). Continue reading
Growing up, I didn’t attend a lot of church. On Goodman Avenue, (ages 5-10), I attended Vacation Bible School (VBS) a few weeks in the summer. I don’t think church was Dad’s thing and Mom’s thing was doing whatever Dad said. When Mom got divorced and married to Joe, she discovered that she had quite a bit more freedom to do as she pleased. Finding her church was one of those.
Even though we didn’t attend church on a regular basis when I was young, we were raised under a Christian roof. As such, we were taught the Ten Commandments. Well, ok…we were too young to discuss half of them, but numbers 3, 5, 6, 8 & 9 – those we knew. If we broke them, we knew we’d meet up with a belt or a switch. Eight and Nine, those two I was scared to death to break because my Dad warned us about them on a regular basis.
8 & 9? Stealing and lying; never steal and never lie. One day I did both. I did both, was immediately found out and then immediately punished for my crimes. Continue reading