Scot Free

Dear You,

Christmas is coming, and with it the memory that bubbles to the surface each year at this time. The statute of limitations is behind me now, and the Ben Franklin store on Main Street gone these many years, so I guess I can 'fess up.

I was a paperboy then, peddling the Toledo Blade on Sundays and my local paper the other six days -- I'd been able to save up for a nice bike and had money to spend for Christmas. But I was also young enough to Test Limits and not old enough to understand Consequences -- okay, I really don't remember who and what I was; I'm reaching for Cause/Effect here, I guess. But, to come clean: I stole the Christmas presents that year.

It's true -- my mother, my father, my two brothers, and even my best friend all got gifts from me that they thought I'd paid for. But all I did was walk into the store with my partly empty canvas news bag, slip one or two items inside, buy some Pez or FanTan gum and walk out. I can almost recall the thrill of "getting away with something." And in my defense, I have not taken anything from a store since.

I didn't get away with it -- not really. For of all those early Christmases in Ohio when I was a boy, I remember only that one, and it gives me no pleasure at all.