$712.72

$712.72. That is a chunk of change that I could do something with. I mean, I couldn’t buy a house with it or anything, but I could pay for my books for next semester, get a desperately-needed new washer or dryer, get a new suit from Ann Taylor….lots of things. More importantly than that, it signifies the present worth of the greatest mysterious cash disappearance to ever happen in my family’s history.

Now, just so we’re clear here, “cash disappearances” happened in my household on a regular basis. Everything got stolen. I had seven siblings, and most of them lived by the adage, “what’s yours is mine, as long as I find it.” There was never a Halloween in my life where I just got to enjoy my candy. I literally had to devise ingenious hiding places, and then move my stash, in the dark of night, on a daily basis. If I didn’t, I would open my bag and find all of my chocolate and gum gone. All I’d be left with were unwrapped circus peanuts, Chuckles, and the popcorn ball from that creepy guy who lived down the street and never zipped his fly.

Money, too, was a moveable and highly-desired commodity. My parents lived by an saying popularized in the 1920’s: if you’re old enough to work at a sweatshop, you’re old enough to support yourself. So, at age 12, they let me know that my paltry allowance was being cut off, and I was now responsible for funding my own clothes, entertainment, and buying Christmas gifts for the ten million people who lived in my house. Unlike today, babysitting back then paid $1.50 an hour. When I would finally string together 7 or 8 bucks in a babysitting session, you know, enough to think that I was really making it in the world, I would look in my hiding place, and find money stash considerably lighter. My fault, I’m sure my siblings thought, for being such an easy mark.

To a certain extent, everyone in a big family expects this kind of behavior. It goes with the territory. It’s like being in a gang – you gotta get jumped in, and having your siblings steal all of your money, things, and sense of security, just go with the territory. But the most amazing feat of thievery that ever occurred was the Great Girl Scout Cookie Money Caper of 1983.

Picture this: I am 12 years old, and a Girl Scout in the most awesome, laid back Girl Scout troop that ever existed. I don’t think we even wore uniforms. Our annual cookie drive was just coming to a close, and I had almost all of my money collected. I kept the money I’d collected (all cash – that was how we rolled in those days) in an unmarked paper bag on an open shelf about 8 feet high, in our kitchen. I figured that the money was safe there because a) it wasn’t mine and there’s honor among thieves, right? b) the kitchen was a popular room so it was hard to be alone and c) the money was on a high shelf.

One day, I came in to put some money I’d just collected in the bag, and…the bag was gone. Gone. $147 and some change. Disappeared.

“Help! Help!” I yelled to my mother! She and I looked for where the
money might have gone. Nowhere to be found.

“Somebody took my Girl Scout money!” I cried! So we asked all of my siblings what they knew.

“Did you take my Girl Scout cookie money?” I asked my sister, the one who was widely considered to have no conscience and would steal anything that wasn’t nailed down.

“Nope,” she said.

“Good enough for me,” My mother said.

“Did you steal my money?” I asked a brother, who would steal everything, and then deny that he had it, even if it was in his hands.

“Nope,” he said.

“Seems truthful,” my mother said.

And so on and so on. Each sibling, ranging in ages from 14 to 24 questioned, and each one denying any knowledge of the Girl Scout cookie money.

“Well, I guess it must have just fallen in the trash,” My mother said.

“The trash?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said. “Totally. Must have been. Your siblings denied it and I find them to be a trustworthy and honest bunch. Or maybe one of their friends stole it.”

“Their friends? It was an unmarked paper bag on a high shelf? How would anyone know about that?”

“Your problem now,” was the response.

So, over the next year or so, I had to pay back that $147.00 from my pitiful babysitting money, in addition to having to clothe myself, provide my own entertainment funding, and buy Christmas presents for all of my siblings, one of whom was a thief and a liar. If I would have grown up as one of the Brady Bunch, I am sure that my siblings would have banded together to help me raise the money. We would have had a bake sale, or a singing competition, or something. But no, my siblings were too busy chasing each other around with kitchen knives to help a girl out.

To this day, no one has confessed to the deed. We are all over forty, and you would think that someone’s conscience or guilt would make them confess, but, alas, no. And you know, there was a valuable life lesson to be learned there for me or whatever. I’m sure it made me stronger. I’m sure it made me more resilient and I am 98% positive that it contributed to my desire to go to law school and do some fucking good in the world. But it still bugs me, lo these 28 years later.

So, in the spirit of fairness, I offer a deal. At a rate of 5.8 compound interest (I think that compound interest is only fair, considering that they stole from a 12 year old girl,) the payback amount in 2011 is $712.72. If you were the culprit, you can write me a check, send me a money order, or just stick a bundle of bills inside my door. I am not picky. On the other hand, I would be perfectly happy if you would simply own up to what you did and apologize.