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the brownie incident

I was 8 years old, or 7 or 9. My acuteness escapes me.

Those brownies smelled amazing. I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed a 7, 8 , or 9 year old handful…

Dinner… Usual shit. Mom and Dad ask about homework, we eat food. Yadayada…


About 9 pm… ET… Is homework done? Yep! Okay…


10 pm. “ROBBBBIEEE.” Oh man I lied. I tried to say that I had no fucking idea about how half the tray of brownies were gone. But, like my mother always did, she got the truth out of me.

I stole a simple treat from my family, and I eventually confessed it all. I love my Mom and Dad for appreciating honesty.

It’s one of my first lessons in trust and love. I was punished, but not harshly. A slight “grouding” – if you could call it that – and a requirement to ace some test that week.

My parents knew how guilty I felt, I mean, I’ve always worn my emotions on my sleeve, and I know my parents understood that. And, bless their sweet souls, they were never ones to rub it in when you made a mistake.

It’s one of my fondest and oldest memories of when I was a little shit, learning from amazing parents. I learned empathy and honesty, with nothing but a bit tough love and understanding.


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