I did not enjoy kindergarten, to put it mildly. Last minute district decisions meant that I did not start kindergarten with the soft-spoken teacher I met during the weeks before school started. Instead, a nearing retirement teacher was moved to my school. The thing I liked least about her was her whistle. Now, I understand she used it to save her voice. Then, my just barely 5 years old self did not like that whistle, nor the generally noisy hustle and bustle of school.
I cried every single day.
My grandfather came up with a plan to get me to go to school: bribery. He paid me fifty cents a day not to cry. Each Friday, I reported to him if and when I cried that week, and he'd reward me accordingly. The pay for the day was based upon the cost of a can of pop from the school's vending machine. I was paid in quarters so that I could buy my pop at recess the next week.
The only hitch to the system was that I rarely bought pop at recess. Instead, I saved up all the quarters in my little red wallet. By the spring carnival, I had about $75 saved. Yes, that's a chunk of change for most any 5 year old. This was in the spring of 1990. It was really a chunk of change then.
I spent every last quarter at the spring carnival. I bought a pencil with a salt dough unicorn on top and a red lace hairbow the size of my head and snacks and who knows how many tickets to play the games that were offered. My mom sold me most of the tickets while volunteering that day and it wasn't until the end of the day, when she saw my massive pile of loot, that she asked how much money I spent.
Then she wanted to know where on earth I got that much money.
I thoroughly enjoyed the months of stuffing more quarters into my wallet, having to work harder and harder each time to get it to zip. I didn't need the gravity of misspending explained to me, and never even wore that giant red lace hairbow. It was the first time in my life I was ever subjected to the interrogation adults give little kids, at least the first one I remember. There was no punishment. The money was mine to do with as I pleased, even if I missed having a bursting wallet.
Yes, that story has become part of family legend.
I also learned to take responsibility for my actions. There were other lessons, of course, but this remains one of the most formative, tangible lessons. Of course, there have been times I haven't remembered that lesson. I've dodged my share of responsibility and blamed others more than a few times. Still, more often than not, when I've done something stupid, I've owned up to it, much like I did when it came to that $75 in quarters.
Is that tied to the story of the prodigal son? Or maybe Moses who fled after committing murder? Or maybe the woman caught in adultery? Or maybe the woman at the well?
Or maybe it's a broader story, written into so much of the Gospel: when you've done wrong, and can say so, there will be forgiveness.
The grace comes when you take responsibility for what you've done and seek out a better Way.
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