Like the child, innocently making thousands of mistakes,
his father teaches him, and scolds him so many times,
but still, he hugs him close in his embrace.
Please forgive my past actions, God,
and place me on Your path for the future.
—Siri Guru Granth - Ang 624
When I turned seven, I had some “friends” over for a birthday party. I put “friends” in quotations because one of those backstabbing munchkins smeared the term with their appalling behavior that day.
One of my pals gifted me the most prized Ninja Turtles action figures on the market at the time, revealed for all to see during the post-cake unwrapping ceremony. But it was a short-lived affair between that toy and me because by the time the party was over and all my friends were gone, so too was Shredder—the main villain of the Ninja Turtles franchise. (I see the irony now, with the evil character being stolen. Like does attract like, it seems!)
Which of these two-faced companions felt so impoverished financially and morally that they had the audacity to ruin the celebration of my birth?
Was it Todd, you ask? The spoiled only child whose love for toys outweighed his love for his friend? Or Jerry? Putting on a friendly facade since kindergarten while plotting this day? Or perhaps Mark, the very gifter of the toy himself, who couldn’t bear to part with such awesomeness, so he snatched it, fueled by jealous rage.
This early instance of betrayal may seem silly now, but to the seven-year-old boy whose love for toys shaped his faith in humanity, who knows what kind of imprint this had? Did it impart the notion that even your closest friends can’t be trusted? Were birthday celebrations entwined with feelings of betrayal? Who knows how deep the Ninja Turtle scandal goes?
Did my “friend” ever learn that that’s no way to get ahead in life? Did they walk away carrying the burden of guilt in their pocket along with my new toy?
Or did that same steal-to-get-ahead mentality follow them in the future, manifesting itself in adult ways?
Are they still holding onto Shredder, like a family heirloom—my family heirloom—to be passed on to their son, along with whatever generational shame plagues such family lines?
Where does it stop? When does the madness end?
Whoever it was, if you fess up now, maybe I’ll forgive you. But do it before it’s too late, before the scorching flames of Hell engulf your toy-stealing soul.