Life Lessons Part 3

In 1958, at the age of 8, I moved with my family from Panama to North Seattle, to a neighborhood called North City.  I was transferring to first grade to finish out the year.  North City Elementary was about ten blocks north of our little post-war, two-bedroom, cement block house.  My parents drove me to school for my first day.  It was a straight shot north after jogging a block over from our house.

I must have been confident about getting home by myself, because after being dropped off, I was to get home by myself.  Dad worked.  We had one car.  Mom had two preschoolers to watch.  But walking home after school, I missed the jog that would take me back to my house.  I wandered a few blocks farther, turned around and started back.  Everything looked alike but nothing looked familiar.

I really must have looked lost because when a policeman drove by, he stopped and asked me where I was going.  I looked him over.  He wasn’t offering me candy.  I was told “Don’t take candy from strangers.”  But I never really understood why.  So, I answered him with my address:  “18004 Ninth Avenue NE.”  He told me to get in and he would take me there.  Cool.  A ride in a real patrol car.  Whatever happened to “Don’t get into a stranger’s car?”  Somehow, I didn’t remember that one.  Turns out I was only two blocks from home.

I’m sure Mom was grateful that I made it home from school but probably didn’t appreciate the police escort.  I don’t remember her being upset or emotional.  What was my life lesson?  When going someplace new, look back now and then to visualize the return route, because the trip going will always look different from the trip back.  (Gen. 19:26)  Oh, yes.  And memorize the home address!

Our house in North City was about five blocks from the grocery store at the top of a long hill.  One day, Mom gave me a small list of things to get at the store.  This was a new adventure for me.  It included milk, bread, bologna and a book of postage stamps.  I didn’t understand what stamps were or what they were for.  I think each stamp was about 3 cents at the time.  When I showed the list to the cashier, I already had the other things.  He gave me what looked like a little piece of cardboard, about half the size of a post-it note.  It seemed so inconsequential and unimportant at the time.  On the way back home, I misplaced it.  I wasn’t even aware of it.  Mom caught it right away and was very upset.  I was embarrassed.  I just lost a dollar’s worth of stamps.  A dollar was a lot of money back then.  I think the milk, bread and bologna together cost less than that.  I backtracked up and down the hill looking for the book of stamps.  No luck.  Bad day.  Life lesson?  Listen carefully to Mom and her instructions.  Listen to details.  (Prov. 16:9 The mind of man plans his way but the Lord directs his steps.)  Also, never underestimate the value of little things.  (Matt. 13:45 The kingdom of heaven is like a merchant seeking fine pearls . . . )

A year and a half later, we moved to Lynnwood.  Looking for spending money, I started delivering papers for the weekly Lynnwood Enterprise.  I think I was 11 at the time.  There was the regular paper with local news, and a shopper that only had advertisements.  The shopper was free and went to everyone.  The regular paper was for subscribers and was 25 cents a month.  I had to collect from each one every month.  I was always amazed how evasive and petty people could be for 25 cents.  I’m sure I had a poor attitude due to the early hours, the difficulty of collections, the attitude of some of the subscribers and the small amount of money I made.  I remember that I just didn’t care.

One Wednesday morning I was delivering papers on a cul-de-sac.  I rolled up a paper, put a rubber band around it, and tossed it up on the porch.  However, it bounced off and landed in the flower bed.  Meanwhile, the Post Intelligencer paperboy was close by and watched me do this.  He came over to talk to me.  Now, understand that the PI paper boys were the elite in the industry.  To us, they were the Seal Team Six or the Green Berets of paperboys.  And this one was huge and ancient - at least 16 years old.

He said to me, “Are you going to get that?”  I just brushed him off with a shrug and maybe smart remark.  He got so mad and really laid into me.  “You’ve taken on a responsibility to deliver these papers!  These people are relying on you.  The paper should be on their porch and dry.”  And he went on and on, as my self-image grew smaller and smaller with each scathing sentence.  I was galvanized.  A stupid paper was that important?  I guess so.  I picked the paper out of the flower bed, replaced it with a dry one and placed it on the porch.  My whole attitude toward delivering papers changed that day and I decided to do better.  A year later I was carrier of the month.  What did I learn?  If I’m going to do something, I should do it right, with pride.  I should think about others rather than myself.  (Col. 3:23 Whatever you do, do your work heartily, as for the Lord rather than for men))  Also, never brush off a paperboy that is bigger and older than I am.