What Do You Mean the Truth Will Set You Free?: Step 15

Greed and the temptation of evil struck me at a young age. Actually, to the best of my recollection it was around the time my personal chronology moved into the double-digit category. An arena, I have heard one does not get to leave for the rest of your life unless you are one of the fortunate few to reach the century mark. For those of you having difficulty keeping up I am talking about age. So, round about 10 years of age I was cursed with the need to impress others with of all things my material possessions. As stated before my life while comfortable included none of the excesses the Hardy Boys or Beaver Clever had. As far as I am aware neither of my parents were interested in sports. Still my life would become obsessed with Wisconsin’s proudest sports franchise, the Green Bay Packers. Some guy from New York with an Italian name, Vincent Lombardi, came to town and turned a fairly mediocre group of athletes into perennial champions. Kids at Grantosa Drive talked incessantly about Dowler or McGee’s great catch or the patented Hornung sweep with pulling guards Jerry Cramer and Fuzzy Thurston knocking down everyone in their path. Guys a few years older, but not that much bigger, such as Wade’s brother Glen, who lived next door, or Jesse, the first guy with a ducktail in the back, were “making the team,” at Custer High. When I saw their uniforms I knew I had to have one. The other phenomenon influencing this stage of my life was the radio. More specifically, kids were listening to the “Top 40.” Somehow, I had managed to get my own transistor radio. These pocket size beasts were the ancestors of the ipod. While reception depended on standing in just the right place without moving too quickly in either direction, the ability to take your personal music, the stuff parents said, “sounds more like noise than music to me,” and listen either outside or in the privacy of your own bedroom was a mid-twentieth century miracle. Beyond this invention there was the phonograph. Here again, analogous to itunes, you could own your own music. My parents had something called 78s, but the fashion on which the Top 40 was produced was the 45-rpm record. Rather than the little paper punch hole of the 78s, these babies had a hole in the center the size of a silver dollar. Now, neither the clerk at G.C. Murphy where I purchased my football uniform, nor the woman, who along with her husband owned and operated the record store where I purchased a copy of the top 10 of the top 40 records, asked where I got the money. It was a secret that would be short-lived. After hiding my uniform in my dresser drawer the first few days, I took it out to wear the afternoon Jesse offered to join one of our pick-up games. Thinking my shoulder and thigh pads would make me indestructible I ran up the middle and was tackled to the ground instantly covering the bright red jersey with green grass stains. At the same time, I think I had only played two or three of the records before the grass stain incident. Then, I’m not sure what I did to get my little brother to turn on me, but looking back it seems it was inevitable, and so the truth squad, aka Mom and Dad, were called in to settle the matter. I did try to hide in the closet and refuse to come out, but that proved useless. Admitting you stole money from your parents and agreeing to a year long plan to pay for the damaged goods was difficult enough, but when I had to wash out the uniform in order to donate it to Goodwill, and then return the records to the lady at the record store and apologize for my wrongful actions my embarrassment was mortifying. Your comments and stories are greatly appreciated.