They zipped past me like two rabbits running from a hound. Boys still aged in the single digits, leaving a trail of squeaks from their shoes and giggles spilling from their smiling faces. They were entrenched in a game of chase or perhaps donning some make-belief roles in a conjured quest known only to them. Regardless of the catalyst, the were having fun. But they were running in “my” store.
I was the highest-ranking manager on duty, and I could prove it with the engraved assistant manager tag clipped to my less than stylish red vest. Yes sir. I was in charge, and boys, even those that were having fun, could NOT run up and down the aisles. We had rules and I was the enforcer.
My age put me smack dab between them and their parents, although my maturity might have favored the lower denominator. I tracked these towhead misprints down and asked for a favor. “Boys, I heard there are some kids in the store running.” Their eyes faces showed respect as I continued, “If you see them, please try to get them to stop.” They quickly agreed to help, and I turned away smugly, knowing I had kept myself from the wrath of still unseen parents with this clever ruse. They saved face. I stopped a possible accident without rebuking my new friends. We had all won.
Just a few steps back into my busy managerial duties, I felt a gentle apprehensive tap on my back. I pivoted to see the same two fellows, who had become decidedly more serious. The spokesboy offered this explanation for our second meeting with a very short quip. “Mister, it was us.”
Mister, it was us. I’ve relayed this encounter more than a few times. These two lads, when given an excuse, took responsibility for their actions. Their example towers high above most folks I have encountered since. Everyone makes mistakes, but usually they are compounded with excuses, lies, or attempts to shift blame. But these young gentlemen had already chased down some integrity and I’m sure they are fine men today.
It is rare and refreshing to hear someone admit to an error. I mean really own it, while putting in the effort to right the wrong. I’m still working on this candor and humility while recognizing excuses for the white little lies that hide within them. No one who truly knows me thinks I’m perfect (tolerable is probably closer to the truth). So, I’ll work on being real. And real honest. And responsible.
When I say my prayers, often the messes in my life get brought up. By both of us at various times. So maybe next time I’ll tap God on the shoulder and start off with a different line, “Mister, it was me.” Pretty sure He already knows.
