One afternoon, a sunny one at that. If I remember correctly, it was during the summer time right after the harvest. My grand father's bodega was as usual, packed with sacks of rice. We would have our jeep pulling trailers and trailers of rice sacks to be either sold immediately or stored in the bodega I have mentioned that was integrated right next to the house. I could go on and on about all the things I've witnessed when it comes to farming with my grand parents, but this entry is not about that.
Back on topic, the same afternoon, I was bored and decided to come visit some of the children in the village I usually play with. I was not even supposed to come close to them because I was told to be careful because their family has a history of Tuberculosis along with the way they live and all that. They didn't even have floors. They had the ground right before their feet with no flooring at all or whatsoever. But I didn't think anything of it at the time. To me they were kids I could play with and for a lonely kid like me who's the only non-adult in the house, I ignored warnings and hung around them anyway.
We were just checking out some plants and one of them was showing me some methods in planting. Like grafting and all of that stuff. Vines and how they made these frames made of bamboo where the plants or vines could use to attach to when they start growing. It was fascinating to me at the time though I did not understand some of the things they have shown me. Then just like other kids, we ran out of things to do. I told them I'll come back later and that maybe it's time to eat lunch already. I needed to be home in time.
I walked home. I don't remember the path I took. Nor do I remember what I was thinking when I was on my way home. The next memory I can recall is being in the kitchen to check if we were about to eat lunch. But it was not ready yet. So I made my way to the living room. Where the TV from my childhood that was brought to my grand parents' house sat in one corner and on the opposite corner was my grand father's desk.
That desk was no joke. It was really heavy. And thinking back now, I can honestly say it was built well. It had two drawers on the right side and had a really hard top. It was dark brown to almost black in appearance. It would always have some sort of cover that my grand mother always put. A lot of times, I'd see my grand father there reading the newspaper or one of his Western pocket books by Louis L'Amour. But that time, my grand father was not there. Nor my grand mother. It seemed like I was alone. But I wasn't. My grand ma was in the bedroom and my grand father was just outside in front of the house talking to some people. Nobody was there with me, but I did notice something different that was not usually in that room. In fact, I'd expect this to be in a toilet bowl tank where I know they usually kept them instead of being on my grand father's desk.
(Even as a kid, I was already Ninja)
On the desk were sums of money bound together by rubber bands. I don't even know how much were there. I was just surprised to find money like that lying around the house unwatched. I know sometimes we'd have a significant amount of money like that stored safely in secret places. But not out in the open like that.
If it was any other day, I would've ignored that and just went my way. After all, I knew where the money were most of the time, but I just didn't feel the need to steal. I could ask for a few pesos and I'd be given some with no problem. But for some reason, the Ninja in me was strong that day. I approached the pile of money, took one of the bills (I don't even remember which bill I took) and escaped undetected.
I wanted to buy some stuff and food for me and the children I played with. The first thing that I found was a guy riding around in a bike selling which appeared to be ice cream on sticks. Where I came from, we called them Ice Drop. They would have some "munggo" on top and it was pretty delicious. Specially for a hot summer afternoon. I don't remember what "munggo" is in English.
So I bought a handful of them and brought them to my friends. We ate them and it was quite fun and it felt good to share something to the other kids without expecting anything in return. We had plenty of money left, so I figured I'd just return the change to my grand father. Not because I felt bad, but because I felt like it was the right thing to do.
After I returned the money to my grand father, things got a bit... okay. I was not punished nor scolded for what I have done. In fact, they were wondering how much I took and if the man selling Ice Drop gave me the right change. I was young and would have no idea if I received the correct change. I didn't see any frowns. I don't remember my grand father being mad. I just remember smiles and people asking me how much I took. And asking me what I bought. Thinking back now, it was the first memory I have of myself being a Ninja. But I had good intentions.
This story makes me miss my grand parents.
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