The Lesson of a Mint

“Live so that when your children think of fairness, caring, and integrity, they think of you.”                                            -H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

I was 6 or 7 years old, and my family had gone out to eat at a local pizza restaurant.  The meal was remarkable only in that we just didn’t eat out very often in those days.  While I do not remember the meal, specifically, it was pizza, and Dad would have ordered, so it would have been thin and crispy pepperoni.  There was no other kind of pizza, so far as Dad was concerned. 

The meal, however, is not the point.  What happened at, and after the register is the point.  Mom always kept the checkbook, but Dad always paid for meals out.  Mom would hand him the checkbook, and he’d go write one of the few checks he actually wrote, at the register.  For some reason, that night, I stood with Dad at the register.  

On the counter, next to the register was a bowl with red and white starlight mints- just sitting right there!   My young mind could barely process it all.  Where they free?  Did they come with the meal?  I couldn’t ask.  Dad was already paying for the meal.  I couldn’t possibly ask him to add something so small and frivolous after they’d already taken us out for food someone else cooked!  So, I didn’t ask.  With all the 7 year old stealth I could muster, I slowly slid my hand up the counter, over the top.  I watched the clerk (who was probably all of 16) and my father carefully, so they wouldn’t see.  I reached into the bowl, and slid one piece of that glorious candy out of the bowl, and then slid slowly back down the counter and put it in my pocket. 

Had I succeeded?   What a heist!  They had no idea.   Victory was mine!!

As we exited the door of the restaurant, my Dad put his big hand on my shoulder, turned me to face him, and told me, flatly, that if he ever saw me do anything like that again, he would do a thing with his boot, my butt, and my ears which I believe might be possible, but I don’t think would be survivable.  And then he said the words all kids hate worse than almost any other words. 

“I’m so disappointed.”  

He didn’t take the candy.  He didn’t say anything to Mom (at least that I know of).  We just got in the car and went home.   I threw the mint in the trash can in my room as I cried that night.  

I never considered stealing candy ever again.  Every other time in my life I ever considered stealing something, I heard Dad’s voice.  

Ironically, in my teen years, I discovered the mints were actually complimentary for customers.  I didn’t actually steal anything.

At that point, the rest of my Dad’s ingenious, albeit physically threatening, lesson was revealed.  It didn’t matter if I had not actually stolen the mint at 7:  

I INTENDED to steal the mint.  

There, in a pizza restaurant, 10 years later, I realized a really simple, profound truth:  the intent of my action overwhelmed the reality of it.  I made a choice to steal.  In my heart, at that moment, I was a thief. 

Integrity, after all, is about what’s in our hearts.  I can absolutely not say I have never stolen, lied, or purposely harmed anyone in the years since the mint.   I can absolutely say I constantly want to be the best version of all of those things.   I can absolutely say I try to be honest and take responsibility for my broken wrongness.  

I feel like the world, our politics, our families, and our workplaces would all be a whole lot better off if everyone would just remember the simple truth- if you think you’re stealing the candy, you’re stealing the candy.   

So- stop.