One Paragraph Series No. 2 You Can't Give it Back.

A friend posted a meme today on Instagram about reading memoirs and thinking “how did you remember all of that?” I paused after I read it - And then I immediately remembered something that I did when I was 14. I stole a black Polo Sport (Sorry Ralph Lauren - huge fan) crossbody purse from Macy’s at Fiesta Mall in Mesa, AZ. If it was still there - I could walk you through the right entrance to the exact section and display where it was hanging before I walked out with it in 1995. I was “Faithy Five Finger Discount” back then. If your car was unlocked, I was rifling through. If it was laying out and I liked it, it got picked up. I lived a life of petty crime. Playing fast and loose on the misdemeanor circuit. And I was on foot those days. No car, no bike, no skateboard, no wheels. Running the streets, quite literally. I would run and run - away. Fueled by adrenaline, angst, and legs. But we all know how this story goes, you eventually get caught. And you never use any of the stuff because of guilt, then you loose a friend, pay some restitution, and wrap it up with a feeling guilty the rest of your life bow made of caution tape. Would you read a memoir just chalked full of petty crimes committed by me, my brothers, and guest starring some of my cousins? Cause that is all I got. The rest is a complete blur. You ever steal?

*My daughter stole a shiny red heart keychain from a store at a Catholic Mission out in the desert when she was 3. She knew it was wrong. I made her return it and the lady told us she was essentially going to hell. It was almost unbelievable. No grace. I laughed because that ain’t my Jesus. He has forgiven me too, but damn if I don’t try to tip my way into heaven after the dine and ditch I pulled back then. Trying to buy my way back in.