It is a little more than three years since I wrote Daddy, They Have Mommy’s Purse. It is the story of how some people stole money from my family and robbed my son of some of his childhood innocence.
The reason I bring it up is because today I found out that I am again the victim of robbery. There is nothing like being violated to brighten your day and make you smile. I suppose that I should tell you what happened, at least to the extent that I can.
This particular story involves my car, but fortunately very little money. Not unlike many people I have a small compartment that I use to hold change. It is generally filled with an assortment of nickels, dimes and quarters that I use when needed to fill parking meters or whatever.
I usually make a point of filling it whenever I notice my pants pockets starting to hang six inches lower than normal. If when I walk I sound like a cat with a bell around its neck I know it is time to dump some change into the drawer.
So this afternoon I opened the compartment and was prepared to lose some silver when I noticed that Old Mother Hubbard’s cup board was bare. Initially I figured that a member of the family had decided that they had need of the change and had forgotten to mention that they had taken it out.
Unfortunately this was not the case. Someone else is responsible for stealing my three bucks or so in change. Someone else decided that it was ok for them to help themselves to my possessions. I am not angry about the amount that was stolen, it is not going to make or break me.
It is the principle of the matter. It is knowing that someone was in my car rummaging through my possessions and that they felt comfortable enough to take what was not theirs to remove.
So I have been trying to determine when it happened. I am trying to figure out if I lost the change to an unscrupulous parking valet or if someone else managed to enter my car and leave with their ill gotten gains.
I tend to think that it was a valet, but I can’t say for certain. Actually I hope that it was a valet because in the grand scheme of things it bothers me less than thinking someone else was in my car. I hope that they really needed the money. I hope that somehow it made a difference in someone’s life.
It is goofy, but it makes me feel better to see it that way. Because the other side makes me pretty angry. The other side makes me want to take my size 12 boot and apply it to their behind.
In the end it may have been an insignificant amount of money, but their actions impacted more than them. In spite of my attempt to keep this tale from reaching little ears I was overheard and forced to share the story. And now that much more of my children’s innocence has been taken.
Don’t ever forget that one grain of sand may be inconsequential, but a billion make a desert. The little things add up.