A Lesson in Forgiveness

Forty-three years seems like a long time to remember

the name of a mere acquaintance. I have duly forgotten the

name of an old lady who was a customer on my paper route

when I was a twelve-year-old boy in Marionette, Wisconsin

back in 1954. Yet it seems like just yesterday that she

taught me a lesson in forgiveness that I can only hope to

pass on to someone else someday.

On a mindless Saturday afternoon, a friend and I were

throwing rocks onto the roof of the old lady's house from a

secluded spot in her backyard. The object of our play was

to observe how the rocks changed to missiles as they rolled

to the roof's edge and shot out into the yard like comets

falling from the sky.

I found myself a perfectly smooth rock and sent it for

a ride. The stone was too smooth, however, so it slipped

from my hand as I let it go and headed straight for a small

window on the old lady's back porch. At the sound of

fractured glass, we took off from the old lady's yard faster

than any of our missiles flew off her roof.

I was too scared about getting caught that first night

to be concerned about the old lady with the broken porch

window. However, a few days later, when I was sure that I

hadn't been discovered, I started to feel guilty for her

misfortune. She still greeted me with a smile each day when

I gave her the paper, but I was no longer able to act

comfortable in her presence.

I made up my mind that I would save my paper delivery

money, and in three weeks I had the seven dollars that I

calculated would cover the cost of her window. I put the

money in an envelope with a note explaining that I was sorry

for breaking her window and hoped that the seven dollars

would cover the cost for repairing it.

I waited until it was dark, snuck up to the old lady's

house, and put the envelope of retribution through the

letter slot in her door. My soul felt redeemed and I

couldn't wait for the freedom of, once again, looking

straight into the old lady's eyes.

The next day, I handed the old lady her paper and was

able to return the warm smile that I was receiving from her.

She thanked me for the paper and said, "Here, I have

something for you." It was a bag of cookies. I thanked her

and proceeded to eat the cookies as I continued my route.

After several cookies, I felt an envelope and pulled it

out of the bag. When I opened the envelope, I was stunned.

Inside was the seven dollars and a short note that said,

"I'm proud of you."

By Jerry Harpt

from A 5th Portion of Chicken Soup for the Soul

Copyright 1998 by Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen