My family, for generations, has believed that work is the way to success and getting what you want in life. Weve also believed in a variation of the golden rule, which is kind of what some people refer to as karma. My brothers and I grew up pretty dang poor. Not because my parents didnt work, but because they were young, had three kids, and went to college late and then into the ministry. Money was always tight. They always made sure to get us what we needed, but necessarily what we wanted. By the time I was old enough to get a real job, Id already been working on things since I was old enough that I had to reach UP to hold the handle bars on a lawn mower. Work has always been easy, and always been something that we just did, period. When I was in high school, I wanted to buy a truck. My parents negotiated with the guy who sold us the truck, and worked out a deal where I could make payments on it. It was not pretty--a 1977 Ford pickup, that someone had done a pretty bad job of spray painting (or some other kind of paint). It wasnt a nice truck, but it was all mine, and all paid for. I got made fun of a lot for that truck, for a variety of reasons, but it was something I bought and paid for 100% on my own, and represented freedom to me. I loved it. I also had other things that I wanted--a lettermans jacket and a class ring. While a lot of kinds I knew just asked their parents for it and got it, my parents didnt even have to tell me they couldnt afford it. I already knew they couldnt, so I didnt even ask. So I sat down with Doug from Jostens and picked out all the things that I loved and put into a class ring. I specifically chose the blue colored-stone to go with the gold on the ring (even though it wasnt my birthstone), because I wanted a blue and gold ring. I was so proud to be a BHS student that I always wanted to have a memory of that. To get that treasured ring, I would need to make $300. It was the second-largest purchase Id ever had to make, after my truck. So I found anyone who would let me do anything--from raking leaves to mowing yards, pulling weeds, cleaning out gutters, shoveling horse manure, painting houses, carrying anything anyone needed carrying. I didnt go out and hang out with my friends. I worked my job as a cook at Simon Bs that summer, and did every single odd job around Bolivar that was available. When the time came to pay for the ring, I had all the cash I needed. And I was pretty dang proud of myself. I wore that ring everywhere, all the time. I took it off for football, weights, and bedtime. That was it. I had some people give me grief about it too, because it wasnt my birthstone (the traditional way to do rings was to put your birthstone into it), but I was proud of the fact that what I did represented Bolivar and the Liberators. It probably sounds silly, how much I am attached to this town. But when I was a kid, we moved around a LOT. In fact, Id lived in 32 different homes by the time I was graduated from high school. But no matter where on the globe we were, no matter what town we called home, in my heart, Bolivar was always my home. I had a fantasy as a kid that wed come back to Bolivar and I could settle down here. When I was 15, we did just that. So this ring actually represented a solid, stable place I could call home, and was one of the reasons I loved it so much. Around ten years ago, Id left the ring at my parents house for safekeeping, as Id been moving around from place to place and hadnt quite settled. At some point a few years later, my parents house was broken into, and the ring was listed as one of the items that was stolen and never recovered. I just figured that I was out a ring, and if I ever wanted one again, I could just have another one made. I never did though. It was really one of the things of my adulhood that I regretted the most. I got the chance to meet up with some of my classmates again at our ten year reunion in 2006. One of those old friends was Tj Robertson, who is now a firefighter in Michigan. We exchanged numbers, and as classmates often do, offer to keep in touch. We still do, randomly through FB. In 2009, a few months after Id opened the Peddlers Post here in town, some rough looking fellas came in and wanted to sell me a class ring. I looked at the ring, and to my astonishment, it was a Bolivar High School, class of 1996 ring. It was silver, not yellow gold, so I knew it wasnt mine. I noticed the name on it was TJ Robertson, and so I got curious. I couldnt imagine that hed just given his ring away, but I got curious. I asked the guy who gave me the ring where he had gotten it from. I felt pretty confident I knew where this was going, and my brother, a Bolivar Police officer, was sitting behind the desk just hanging out with me off-duty. When I asked the question, the guy looked at me and said, I did some work for him last weekend at his house, and he gave it to me. I looked at my brother, and looked at him and said, I find that hard to believe, given that the guy that owns this ring is living in Michigan as a firefighter right now. It was at this point that one of the guys in the group that came in recognized who my brother was, and elbowed the guy that gave me the ring, and said, hes a cop in not nearly as quiet a whisper as Im sure he thought hed done. To respond to what I said, the guy then told me Well, it wasnt him, he wasnt here. He gave it to a friend, who gave it to me, to use as payment. So I pulled out my cell phone and called TJ, right on the spot. Lo and behold, he had no idea who these guys were, nor did he have any idea what they were talking about, and hadnt seen his ring in quite some time, in fact. He was pretty excited that it reappeared, and was fairly certain that the ring had been taken from him by someone, but couldnt remember who. So I asked the guys again, how they got it (as the stories I was getting were pretty obviously made up). All of them but the guy who gave me the ring just kind of slithered back out the door. He said, Uhh so I was wondering what youd give me for that ring? I wont share how the negotiation ended, just that I was able to call TJ back, get his address, and mail him his ring. It was pretty cool, reuniting someone with something that was theirs, that they thought theyd lost forever. We talked for a bit about me having my ring stolen too, and how the chances of me never having it again were pretty much 100%. Flash forward to today. As you can see from the pic, I am holding that much-loved Liberator blue and gold class ring. It walked into my store today too, with circumstances and negotiation surrounding it that I wont go into detail about. Suffice it to say, its back where it belongs. It slid nicely right back on my ring finger, where I think Im going to keep it for as long as I can remember. Ive always believed that what goes around comes around. And today, miraculously, I see first-hand exactly how true that is. One day Ill put this on a necklace for my daughter, as a reminder that hard work can get you the things you want in life; that doing right by people will come back to bless you, time and again, and as a connection to a place that Ive always called home.
Posted on: Sun, 28 Dec 2014 00:04:10 +0000
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