Spare the Rod

After harvest, the silo next to our house in the Philippine Province was filled with sacks upon sacks of unmilled rice grains. During his business dealings, my great grampa used these sacks in bartering, settling debts, and sometimes just given away as gifts. The sacks were considered as valuable as gold, yet we never had to worry about thieves coming in the middle of the night to steal from us. My Grampa’s affable character made for one auspicious relationship with the townspeople. Much like George Bailey in Bedford Falls, Grampa was rich in both friends and status.
My relationship with the younger folk was pretty much the same way. However, I didn’t have the luxury of owning a rice crop with which to “do business”. I have to admit in advance though that I gained my popularity with the local children by giving away rice grains, but in a dishonest way. You see, I stole from my Grampa.

For the longest time, I remember cutting small holes out of the sacks, pour a small quantity of the rice grain into a small sack, then go down to the local market and sell the grains for a small profit. I would then treat all my friends for soda, candy, and toys until all the money ran out.

This went on for a long time until one day Grampa caught me in the act of stealing.
I expected the worst, so when he approached me without saying a word, I closed my eyes and tightened my entire body and prepared for a beating. Instead, what I got was a big hug. Then without saying a word, Grampa helped me place some grains into several small sacks. When he finished, he took me by the hand, led me to the market, and sold the grains. He gave me the money then “stood in the background” while I ran to my waiting friends.
When I turned around, I didn’t need grampa to tell me the facts of life. I knew right then it was wrong to steal and that I was going to have to stop what I was doing. But it was the quiet, gentle spirit in him that reprimanded me that made the most impact --- not a rod, broom handle, or belt.
I miss you, Grampa.