A Lesson From My Grandfather

You see it in the movies.
I remember it quite vividly.
I used to go there with my grandfather.
I would sometimes go after school with my mother.

I loved sitting up at the counter in the swivel stools.
I loved to watch the waitress behind the counter as she took everyone’s orders.
I was fascinated by her hair net, with every strand of hair tucked neatly inside.
I was amazed that she could keep her uniform clean even though she was handling food.

I can still see her mint green uniform.
I remember the white apron tied around her waist.
I can see her notepad on which she used her own type of shorthand.
The notepad and pencil went into the front pocket of her apron.

There was a short order cook who prepared the requests of the customers at the counter.
I heard the sizzle of the grill.
I watched him flip burgers expertly with his wide spatula.
I remember the grilled cheese sandwiches he made with the cheese oozing out the sides.

Lunch at the counter was something special.
It was something my mother and I did on a day off from school.
Sometimes, we would go and just order milkshakes.
Black and white was the kind of milkshake we always ordered.

I can see the waitress in the mint green uniform, adding ice cream and milk to a silver pitcher.
She would put the large silver pitcher under the blender after adding chocolate syrup.
She would give it a few spins and then let the blender mix the ingredients on its own.
When it was done, she would pour the milkshake into frosted glasses.

She would serve it with a napkin because the cold, frosted glasses would drip on the counter.
The milkshake was served with a long spoon and a long straw.
I remember the day my grandfather and I went to get milkshakes.
My mother and grandmother were in the grocery store, so we had time to splurge a bit.

I climbed up on the red swivel stool.
My feet barely reached the metal footrest.
I was not allowed to turn round and round.
Oh, how I wanted to do that.

My grandfather talked to the waitress and other people at the counter.
He was proud to introduce his granddaughter to the people around him.
I just wanted to drink my milkshake.
I knew better than to be impolite, so I smiled and tried not to think of the sip I wanted to take.

When it was time to leave, we had to pay at the front cash register.
My grandfather bought a newspaper and some gum.
The man behind the counter told me that I could pick something, too.
I had no idea that I was to choose from a small jar by the register.

My grandfather said goodbye.
We walked to the grocery store to get my mother and grandmother.
My grandfather held my hand.
What do you have there? He asked me.

I showed him the pack of cheese crackers that I chose from the rack below the register.
Where did you get those? He asked.
From the man, I answered.
The man at the cash resister didn’t give you those, he said with a stern voice.

I remember being confused.
I remember feeling like I wanted to cry.
Something was wrong, but I did not understand what it was.
My grandfather turned around and took me back to the store.

He brought me to the cash register.
The man was still there.
I think we need to pay for these crackers, my grandfather said.
He showed the man the pack of cheese crackers as he took them from my hand.

The man looked at me sweetly.
What do you say? My grandfather prompted, expecting me to say, I’m sorry.
You said I could pick something, too, I said to the man, trying hard not to cry.
I did, the man said with a kind voice, and you picked what I would have picked.

I remember my grandfather and the man behind the register winking at each other.
I should have said that you get to pick from this jar right here, the man said pointing.
Now you know for the next time, he added.
I still did not know exactly what happened but I remember my grandfather’s smile.

You shall not steal. (Exodus 20:15)

We left the store and my grandfather took my hand.
What happened, Pop-Pop? I asked him.
We never take what doesn’t belong to us, he said firmly but kindly.
Not even a crumb from someone’s table, he continued.

I wanted you to go back and make it right with the man at the cash register.
I understand that you did not know that it was only the jar you could pick from, he said.
You never take what does not belong to you.
Ever, he said with emphasis.

OK, Pop-Pop, I said still holding his hand.
I still remember that incident all these years later.
My grandfather was a man of the Depression era.
He remembered what it was like to be in want.

There was never an excuse to take anything.
He hugged me and we never talked about it again.
He knew that I did not steal anything that day.
Until he knew exactly what had happened, we had to make it right.

He did not try to smooth it over.
He did not make light of it.
He was training my character, as little as I was.
He held my hand through the whole lesson.

From him, I learned about honesty and integrity.
From him, I learned how to handle things right away.
From him, I learned that you are never too young to have character training.
From him, I learned that once something is handled, it does not need to be brought up again.

How innocent the times were, then.
How immediate the response to wrongdoing.
How quickly the forgiveness and restoration.
How effective the training.

I think of my grandfather fondly.
He practiced my letters with me; he expected my best work at all times.
He and I loved to watch, The Wizard of Oz, when it was on television.
He always told me that I was very smart and he was proud of me.

What a blessing to have someone like that in your life.
What a blessing it is to be someone like that to someone else.
My motives were innocent that day.
My grandfather saw an opportunity to teach me a hands-on life lesson.

I will always be grateful to him.