When I was a kid growing up in northeastern Ohio, I would go to the store and buy – on a pretty regular basis – beer, cigarettes and snuff. Though I was only around ten or eleven, the merchants in my neighborhood agreeably handed over the purchases without complaint. I was never questioned on my intent, nor challenged by any adult. And on that one time when it looked as though my purchase might have been questioned, the owner of the drive-through handed me the six-pack of beer, and looked up at the cop and said, “It’s okay. He has a note.”
I Had a Note
Yes, I had a note. And back then, all you needed was a note. You see, we grew up during a time when merchants were neighbors and they knew everyone in the neighborhood. There were supermarkets, yes, but there were also the mom and pop operations that carried the essentials like bread, milk, and yes, beer, cigarettes and snuff. When a child came into their shop with a note, it was treated as gospel. Typically, they were not questioned because the merchants knew the authors. And if there was a hint of doubt, they’d pick up the phone and verify.
To be perfectly honest, I hated running errands for the elderly folk in my neighborhood. I wanted to play with my friends. So, one day when my mom called me into the house to send me on a run, I complained. “Ma, I hate doing this. Why can’t they get their own stuff or why can’t they call someone else to do it? Why do I always have to do it?”
Trust
My mother didn’t tolerate back talk, and typically an outburst like that would have earned me a quick and painful attitude adjustment. But on this occasion, I guess she decided to have a little mercy on my backside and said, “They call because they’re old and can’t do it themselves. They ask for you because they trust you.”
Those words had a profound effect on me. You see, though I could have, I never considered forging a note and buying beer or cigarettes for personal use. The fact that my neighbors trusted me outweighed any personal gain. It was the way I was raised. Sure, I was tempted, but never crossed the line.
I learned many lessons as a child. My mother made sure of it. But none more important than trust. So, on that day, when my mother corrected me and made me realize how important it was that I run these errands, I realized that it wasn’t about a note. It was about who wrote the note and who delivered the message.
