For One Thin Dime

I owe my sister a dime.

In truth, I owe her a lot more than that, but there’s really no adequate monetary compensation for betraying a loved one. Given the circumstances, the 10-cent piece I pulled out of my pocket the other day is about the only thing that comes close to being appropriate.

This particular dime was in change from the four dollars I paid for a pack of cigarettes at a seedy U Save convenience store. It’s a wonder I even noticed it before dropping it in my coin jar at home. But I did hold it apart, and examination led me to remember 1970. I was eight years old.

Pleasant Hill Baptist Church has having an Easter egg hunt for the children. We all contributed dyed eggs which the menfolk hid in the little wooded area behind the cementary. Before we began our search, we were told there was a prize egg --- an uniquely marked yellow one --- and who ever found that particular egg would get a very special reward.

There were probably about 20 -- 25 kids there, and I wasn't a child who ever had much luck when it came to winning prizes. Plus. I never seemed to be as good as other kids at any kind of contest. I couldn't imagine coming away with anything more than a few less eggs than I originally brought. I just hoped not to embarrass myself with an empty basket.

Fortunately there were so many eggs --- spread out, but in relatively plain sight --- that soon after we got the start signal, I had gathered three or four. If worse came to worse, that would have been good enough for me. I kept looking though, and found a few more. Then my little sister found me.

She had spied an egg in a space between the ground and a boulder, but her five-year old arm was to too short to reach it. She asked me for help, so I pulled it out for her. It was the prize yellow egg.

I was overwhelmed by greed and a chance to finally be the child who won. I kept it for myself.

She protested, obviously, but really not that much --- probably so stunned that her big brother could flagrantly cheat her that she didn't make much of a fuss. But the look on her face as I turned away remains an ugly brand on my soul.

Nevertheless, when the hunt concluded I presented the special egg to collect my grand prize.

Sometimes we are most blessed by God when He lets us be disappointed. Had I been given a Hot Wheels race set, a G.I Joe action figure or a non-gender-specific $5 bill, I might have taken the wrong lesson from thievery. Instead, (with no fanfare) I has handed one of those little plastic eggs and told to open it. I found it stuffed with a bit of green plastic grass that lines Easter baskets, and under that I found one shiny new ... dime.

Even back in 1970, a dime wasn't much money. Still, I respectfully thanked the elderly lady who give me my prize and I said nothing more. Eight-year olds can recognize justice too.

Growing up, my sister and I fought a lot --- mostly out of boredom, I believe. We lived in a rural area, far from playmates, and a good fuss was one way to break the monotony. Sometimes she "started it" and sometimes I did, though in explaining it to our parents, it was always the other one's fault. Looking back though, if I added up every "bad" thing she ever did to me, it would amount to less than ten cent's worth of transgression.

Well anyway, I've found the dime I've set aside to acknowlege my long-ago betrayal at Easter. By the way, it isn't stamped 1970. It’s several decades older than that --- a piece of silver.