When I was about ten, my best friend and I mutually decided that we wanted a pet mouse. We were going to share it and name it Jerry, after the clever little cartoon character. For reasons that were inexplicable to me at the time (come on, they're so cute and fuzzy!) both my parents and hers refused to consider it. She and I each had other pets, and mice were such tiny, harmless things in cages. What possible reason could there be for protest?Thinking it might be an issue of money, I offered to pay for it myself out of the little scraps I had hoarded. I actually had plenty to cover the cost of a mouse (I think they cost less than 50 cents at the time), and between my friend and me, we even had enough for a little five dollar cage and some accessories. And we both promised -- pretty please, with eyes wide and earnest -- that we really, really, really would take care of it all by ourselves. Still, the answer was no.
So, we whispered and plotted amongst ourselves. We decided to get a mouse anyway and trade off hiding it in our basements. We walked to the pet store (across two lanes of traffic each way), picked out our pet, a cage and a few other necessities and plopped our money down on the counter. Then we walked back to her house with Jerry, snuck down to the basement and put the cage in what seemed like a hidden corner.
Her mom found Jerry the very same day. The jig was up! Apparently contraband mice don't know they're supposed to be hiding and will make noise anyway or something. Jerry was donated to our teacher, who (quite kindly) agreed to keep him as a class pet. And we were both grounded and still (can you believe it) not allowed to have a pet mouse, in spite of having proven our burning desire, seriousness and commitment. I also had to go to confession and tell Father McDougal I had sinned, which I felt strange about, because I was pretty sure God not only had bigger things to worry about than my mouse problem, but that He already had enough strikes on his tally board against me to have written me off by then.
The memory of that entire incident has lingered with me for years, and I've always seen and felt this story from the perspective of a child. But as my children inch closer to their own similar escapades, I am beginning to wonder about it from the perspective of a parent. What will I do when my own children realized they don't have to take no for an answer but can take matters into their own hands? What will I do when they lie and do something dangerous? How am I handling more minor version of that boundary pushing now? I don't know yet, but I suspect that if even rule-bound little me had such an adventure, my own children will definitely give me the chance to find out.
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