He’s 95 years old. His house is small, unassuming. Why would you choose to break into it? He doesn’t have much to steal. He doesn’t have much money, or anything of monetary value. The value of his things is in the memories they provide for him.
You took his cuff links. His mother gave him those. She passed away while he was at war. You took a couple of rings. One was a ring with a ruby, that his father gave him. The other was his wedding ring. He got married in 1944. You also took his Phi Kappa Phi pin. You’re probably too stupid to know it, but that’s a fraternity for people who have achieved academic excellence. Not worth much to you; you’re lucky to have a vestigial, reptilian hindbrain. But it was priceless to him.
You kicked in his back door—the brand new door he just had installed, and was so proud of. You broke a window, leaving jagged shards of glass for him to clean up. You tossed his belongings, leaving quite a mess for a 95-year-old to have to put back in order. He’s a neat and tidy person. You could tell that, if you bothered to look around.
Are you proud of yourself? I can’t get inside your head. What kind of disgusting piece of slime thinks he has the right to break into a man’s home and take his stuff? How do you sleep at night? How do you look at yourself in the mirror and not vomit? How do you rationalize what you’ve done in your own mind? It baffles me. It really does.
The man whose memories you stole is a kind and gentle soul. But he fought in World War II. He served his country, and was awarded the Purple Heart. He worked hard all his life, saved his money, then gladly spent it all on hospitals and doctors when his wife became ill.
And when it became apparent that she was never going to get better, and that caring for her was more than he could handle, he put her in a nursing home. And he visited her every day. For fifteen years.
Are you pleased with your “haul?” What you took couldn’t have amounted to much. But to him? Memories can’t be replaced. There is no insurance policy that covers memories.
So, here is what I wish for you: I wish you a long life. I hope you manage to accumulate your own store of trinkets, mementos, memories, and that you treasure them and take comfort in them. And when you’re old, and vulnerable, and alone, I hope someone kicks in your door and takes it all away from you.
Mazel tov.