One night when I was a kid, my mom and I stopped at some shop on our way home. I can't remember
what for, but it might have been a bowling shop. Anyway, there on the counter was a Voltron toy. For those of you unfamiliar with Voltron, it was a series of individual robot cats that could be put together to form a larger, much more powerful robot called Voltron. I pestered my mom to buy it for me, pulling out all the stops with things like how I never asked for anything and how she was
the best mom ever. After making a scene of utter adorableness in front of the cashier, my mom finally relented.
When we arrived home that night, we found our
front door standing wide open. We'd been robbed. They took everything of value. I was too
young to truly understand the implications of feeling scared or violated, but I did understand that my mom was upset. We had lost everything. We weren't rich, so I
knew my mom hadn't really had the money to buy me that Voltron toy. But she had, as a special treat. And now, seeing the tears streaming down her face, I felt utterly horrible. Crying my own tears, I took the toy to her and told her to return it. I told her to use the
money to replace our stuff. Even to my child mind, the guilt was too much. I couldn't enjoy
playing with it because of the feelings attached to it now.
As she hugged me, she told me that I didn't have to return it. I could keep it. But she didn't protest when I insisted. I think she understood.
