When visiting NY with friends, I was mugged outside our hotel.
The bellman gave chase, but didn’t catch the thief. I was pretty shaken– the purse was a personal favorite, given to me by a dear family friend who passed away.
I gave into a few hours of moping, and then decided the best course of action was to cheer up, continue with the vacation, and swear my friends to secrecy. After all, if my parents found out I was mugged, I’d never leave the house again.
My friends agreed and treated me to dinner.
On our way to the room, the bellman waved me over to the front desk. He retrieved a box, and slid it over the counter to me with a wink.
My purse was inside!
I looked up at the bellman, in awe, and then peered back in the box– completely flummoxed.
Then I saw the note taped to the purse, and recognized the paper and the handwriting immediately. Mystery solved.
It was from Dad.
I opened the note, expecting a reprimand about how he had to find out about my mugging through friends. Instead, I found a note that wasn’t to me at all:
To the struggling soul who has my daughter’s purse -
I don’t know if you found this when she left it behind, or if you grabbed it out of her hand while she was dazzled by the city, or if you took it from her by force, but you should know:
This girl has protectors. Protectors that far out-class your own.
This purse has meaning. Meaning that far outweighs the contents.
Your theft of her money will bring her hunger, but friends will feed her.
Your theft of her IDs may strand her in New York, but I will find her.
Your theft of this purse, though, diminishes a memory. That tarnished memory will bring unrepairable strife to her mother’s life– and her mother– like all mothers– is your mother and every mother.
Take the money, if you must, (though she would have gladly given it to you), but bring back her treasured memories.
Or else.
With sincere regards,
Dad
I was pretty sure the ominous nature of the note motivated the mugger to return a full purse. Scribed in expensive fountain pen, with fluidly aggressive lettering, the note was quintessentially Dad. He could make a Christmas jingle sound like a threat.
I shared my thoughts with the bellman who disagreed.
“It was the plea for every mother that did it,” he said, “Just take a look at the bottom of the paper.”
Sure enough, there was a response to the letter, written lightly in pencil, at the very bottom.
It simply said, “Sorry Mom.”
“That’s unexpected,” I murmured, running my finger over the pencil markings, as I processed all the happenings of the day and the motivators of the human spirit.
“Not too surprising,” the bellman pointed out, “Everybody’s got a mama.”
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Sometimes life is a series of weird twists of fate!
Have you ever been mugged?
Is your dad jolly– or menacing but loveable like mine?
Did you participate in Yeah Write yet? http://yeahwrite.me/challenge-115/
