I was instilled with moral values and the difference between right and wrong by
parents that took me to church almost every Sunday. If I did something wrong, I could
expect punishment to soon follow, usually in the form of a belt from my dad. If my
brothers and I would not confess to something that was on the list of wrongs, dad
would give us all a whipping to get the guilty one. I remember the dreaded "before the
whipping" speech from Dad. He would make sure my brothers and I understood the
reason why he was correcting us. On one particular evening when I was about seven
years old, I made a regrettable decision. Although not receiving a belt on the behind, the
pain from the guilt was very much felt.
My parents, brothers, and I were at the laundromat in the small town of Etowah.
My mom was feeding the washers and dryers with quarters, while my dad, brothers, and I
stood outside waiting until she was through. I remember my dad giving me a handful of
quarters to take inside to mom. With so many quarters, I didn't think that mom would
miss just a few. I thought I could keep just enough to get a candy bar or coke.
The thought whether to keep some of the quarters was right or wrong didn't
present itself with the rationalization through my childish mind, that mom didn't need all
those quarters. When I handed her the quarters, I was unaware that she knew how many
quarters Dad was supposed to be giving her. When my dad found out that I had pocketed
some of the quarters, he was very disappointed in me. I felt really bad when it was made
clear to me that I was actually stealing from my parents. I wish I could have backed up
and have given mom all the quarters. I was having my first experiences with a guilty
conscious at the tender age of seven.
No, my punishment didn't come in the form of a belt. Instead, I had to write a
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