Forgiveness

The good Lord allows each person a little fooling-around time.  Mine was when I was six or seven.  Construction was going on at the watch factory and in imitation I had fashioned a pulley with which to haul strawberries up to my mother’s third floor apartment.  I had done it once or twice when my grandmother’s day care nurse intercepted the basket on its way up and emptied it to serve my grandmother in the second story apartment.

I was a six-year-old, chagrined.  So I hitched a tricycle to the pulley and pulled it up to the second floor window.  Nobody was happy with that, not even my mother.  Luckily I was only six, and easily forgiven.  I understand adults are not so easily forgiven.

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