The Lesson

Every summer the Elgin Watch Factory, the big company my Dad worked for, had a big company picnic.  Hundreds and hundreds of people having fun. The year I was old enough to help in the refreshment stand promised to be the best yet. I expect I got sodas or chips or ketchup for people basically, but I felt terribly important. Probably 8, give or take, I thought I'd been promoted to head honcho, CEO, almost an official adult. I knew it wasn't the same as getting my driver's license, but I didn't figure I'd ever live long enough to see that day anyway---it seemed impossibly far away. And I felt so useful, so needed. Maybe they couldn't even have the picnic at all without my significant help....

It was such a success in my eyes, that I couldn't wait till the next year, when I imagined I would practically run the place. So when the summer finally rolled around, I was anticipating another great triumph. That year though, people were building a home in the vacant lot directly behind us. At that point, only the foundation had been dug out---a huge, cavernous hole in the ground that held a mysterious appeal all its own. It had been exciting to see the dirt being carved out of the ground by the men in the big bulldozers. And what kid could resist such a compelling attraction?

It was a drawing point for all the neighborhood kids, a gathering place. That Saturday morning while we waited for the signal to get in the car and leave for the company picnic, I moseyed over to the big hole in the ground to join a couple of neighborhood kids. It had been raining quite a bit the last few days (heck, it rained almost every day in the Illinois summers) and I had on my rubber boots. I joined my friends and sat down on the edge. Sooner than I could blink, one of my boots slipped off my foot and disappeared into the muddy waters below. We tried to think of ways to retrieve it, but it was so far down there, and there was no apparent way for any of us to make it down, much less back. I felt panicked, but eventually had to face the music and go tell my parents what had happened---it was pretty hard to look nonchalant in one boot. My mother was furious that I had been so irresponsible. They came to see if they could rescue my boot, but there was no sign of it at all. It had totally drowned.

And so too had my chances of going to the picnic. My parents decided the family couldn't go because of this outrage. My sisters and I were devastated. We hardly ever got to go to such huge affairs, and it seemed unbearable to have to forfeit this rare opportunity. So we secretly put in a call to my Grandma Lucy to come to our aid.

Grandma, who maybe had been to our house once or twice that I could remember, showed up shortly thereafter, much to my parent's amazement and chagrin. She pleaded our case, but the judge and jury had decided and the sentence had been pronounced. They were immovable. An absolute tragedy.

And so we spent the day at home in abject boredom and genuine self pity. Years later, I wondered
if my parents were disappointed at not being able to go to the picnic themselves. But I found out that they meant business, and would stick to their guns, no matter what the cost. Parents who unequivocally mean what they say. Who'd have thought? It was the hardest, and yet one of the best lessons I learned early in life. And I never, ever forgot it.