The Red Glass and Other Lessons
Thirty-five years later, my mom’s words hold.
Photo of me and some of my cronies around the age I stole the red glass.
When I was in high school, my friends and I would go to a restaurant called China Garden. I was probably about my youngest son’s current age, 15 years and a high school sophomore. I had friends that could drive but I couldn’t yet. We thought we were pretty cool riding around San Angelo, Texas, without parents.
At the end of one of these lunch buffets with my friends, where I am positive I ate either sweet & sour chicken or beef & broccoli with an iced tea, I wasn’t finished with my drink. Thinking like a 15-year-old, I just took the standard 1990 red glass from the restaurant and finished my tea on the ride home.
A couple of days later, my mom was unloading the dishwasher when she wondered aloud where we got this red plastic restaurant glass. “Oh, I took it from China Garden,” I said.
“What do you mean, you took it from China Garden?” my mom asked, holding it in the air.
“I wasn’t done with my tea…” I started to explain, but my mom was already grabbing her purse and leading me to the cream-colored Suburban with the navy stripe, explaining to me that I had stolen the glass, which was unacceptable, and how we would be delivering said glass back to China Garden that very moment.
You would think that I could have just walked into the restaurant, put the glass on a table with other dirty dishes, and come back to the Suburban, but not with my mom. I had to request to speak to the manager, admit to my thievery, and apologize for taking the stupid red glass.
To say I was annoyed is an understatement. Ridiculous, I thought, for a glass that probably cost a quarter. My mom is such an overreacter, I thought. Even as the manager thanked me for bringing it back, I thought it was unnecessary to return it. I bet I rolled my eyes 20 times.
Well, 35 years have passed since that stolen-glass incident, and time has found me recently dropping my middle son at college. If you’ve done that before, you know that in those days of pending separation, you will do anything to make your young-adult child feel comfortable in his new environment.
He didn’t pack a shirt for move-in day, so my husband readily gave him his own favorite white t-shirt to wear. He didn’t have nail clippers, so I jumped at the chance to give him mine at the hotel.
“Don’t worry, just take them,” I told him, giving him both the little pair and the big pair of clippers. Take whatever you need. Take the shampoo, the suitcase, your dad’s shoes – take anything to make you comfortable as you take this very brave step to move away from home.
A few days later, back home, I had a split fingernail that drove me crazy all day. Each time I ran my fingers through my hair, one hair would get caught in the split nail and pulled out. When I adjusted my clothes, it would get caught on a thread. And I had no clippers to fix it.
On my day off, I went grocery shopping, stocking the house for back-to-school. I probably had ten bags filled with produce and lunch meat, cereal and quick dinners – three new nail clippers and some tinted Burt’s Bees lip balm from the same aisle.
Finally, I can clip this nail, I thought, unloading the groceries at home, but the clippers never revealed themselves. I pulled the grocery bags back out and searched them, but they weren’t there, either. I added up the amount ($18) of my missing groceries and decided it was worth going back up to H-E-B.
I spoke with the manager, who had to review the video of my purchase from checkout aisle 5 to make sure it wasn’t dropped or, I guess, pocketed by an employee or another customer. She came back down to the podium where I waited and told me to get the items and take them home without an extra charge. She apologized for the inconvenience.
Two weeks have passed, and yesterday I needed the dog bones from the garage. In the bag with the dog bones, hanging on the laundry rack, were 3 nail clippers and, you guessed it, the tinted Burt’s Bees lip balm.
I showed my husband and we laughed about it, knowing I had turned the kitchen upside-down looking for these items two weeks back.I took them to my bathroom to see how they felt on my counter, which was stolen and scandalous. I debated whether I should take the items back to H-E-B or just stock our bathroom with extra supplies. Daughter of the mom who made me return the red glass to China Garden in 1990, you can guess which one I did.
I walked into H-E-B with all the weekend shoppers and waited at the podium again. The assistant manager on duty was being pummeled by questions from customers – one man left his credit card on aisle 7 and another woman was incensed that she had to go to aisle 1 for a return. Finally, I handed him the bag of the clippers and lip balm and an explanation. He started laughing and thanked me for bringing them back.
So here’s the point of this article. For 21 years I have been planting seeds in my children’s minds. And for most of the time that you’re parenting children who are still home, it doesn’t seem like it’s getting in or making a difference. But it does. I’m telling you, your words get in.
“You cannot talk to people that way” a thousand times leads to a teenager who is respectful to me, her pediatrician, at her check-up, or to her teachers at school.
“You cannot bully other people – how do you think that made him feel?” a thousand times leads to a young adult who steps in to take up for an underdog and chooses kindness.
“It matters more who you are and not what you have” a thousand times leads to humans who respect others for who they are, no matter their financial resources.
And “we don’t steal” leads to me – 35 years after the very annoying lesson my annoying (at the time) mom taught me – returning items to H-E-B that I didn’t pay for. Keep on talking through the eye rolls. I promise your words get in.
The advice and opinions herein are by no means meant to be a substitute for professional medical advice. Please contact your personal physician, mental health provider or health care professional for medical advice. Opinions are my own.