LITTLE ROCK — If I merely told you about the incident whose memory one reader had carried with him for more than 50 years by the time he shared it with me, you might not get the point.
Some stories lose much in translation, and his carries far too important a message to allow that, so today I share this space with Kenneth A. Hutchinson Sr., whose favorite childhood memory is also a Christmas story.
“It was during the Second World War and times were not the best for my family. I was in the second grade at Peabody Grammar School. At the time, Little Rock used trolley cars for public transportation, and I rode to school on one from our home on the east side of town to Peabody School on Fifth and Gaines streets.
“Christmas was just around the corner, and I wanted to give my sisters something and had no money to buy them a present. Every day I would walk by the Sterling store that is still on Fifth and Center streets to catch my trolley on Main Street.
“Well, one day I went into the store and it looked like every aisle had toys on them. I looked at everything I could see from my vantage point below the countertop level. (I was a very small child.) Just as I was going to leave, I reached up and grabbed a handful of small balloons and stuffed them in my pocket. As I turned to leave, a huge man in a suit was blocking my way. It was the store manager! He informed me that I had just shoplifted-stolen-in his store and I was accompanying him to his office.
“As we went up the stairs to his office, all my worst fears began to run through my small mind and some tears began to form on my cheeks. He left me in his office chair and was gone for some time, allowing me to wallow in my regret and dread. Upon his return, he had a policeman with him. They explained that what I had done would be reported to my parents, and some punishment was expected along with the return of the balloons, which I immediately gave them.
“I pleaded with them not to tell my father, who I was sure would punish me severely. After awhile, they asked me if I would ever do this again, to which I promised on my soul and crossed my heart that it would never happen again. The two of them had a private, low conversation that I could not hear. Then the manager told me I could go. I was elated, but ashamedof my actions.
“That Christmas I learned two things: honesty and forgiveness. They have kept me in good stead ever since. I never knew who the manager or the policeman were, but I wish I could go back and thank you both for what you taught me.”
There is little doubt in my mindthat the lessons Hutchinson learned that day would stand most people in good stead if they were fortunate enough to learn them at an impressionable age. Some year back, I received a letter from a gentleman who was touched by the tribute I’d paid to a former teacher who had made a keen impression on me many years before. He said how proud he would be to know that he had influenced a younger someone as my teacher had influenced me.
I’ve never met this gentleman, but I’ve no doubt that he has so touched someone’s life, perhaps the lives of many someones, because the letters he writes to Voices are filled with his regard for people and history and heritage.
I never met Hutchinson, either, but I’m pretty confident that he, too, touched some lives in a meaningful way, quite possibly because two fearsome authority figures showed him compassion and direction at the moment he needed them the most.
This marvelous season of introspection and thanksgiving is drawing to a close and a new year looms. If you’re hard put for meaningful resolutions, join me in mine: to be a little kinder, a little more understanding, to those whose paths you cross. You never know when you will become an abiding influence in someone’s life.
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Associate Editor Meredith Oakley is editor of the Voices page. An earlier version of today’s column appeared on Dec. 27, 1997.
Editorial, Pages 59 on 12/27/2009