Heather and me, age 4, Fall 1985
sitting at the counter where the cookie jar resided
***
I remember one Sunday when I was three or four, maybe five. My family was getting ready for church, and my parents had just finished with me and were finishing getting my sister and themselves ready. I remember standing in the kitchen, looking up at the cookie jar, just out of my reach. My dad always jokes about how as a baby my arms would grow at will, and somehow I could reach anything that had previously been beyond my grasp. I guess I was still testing that skill, because I remember that somehow I accessed the cookie jar and desired cookie, but that somehow the glass cookie jar ended up on the floor in pieces.
No one seemed to hear it. I remember wondering if I should tell my parents. Funny that I didn't really think about the fact that they would know, since there was not really anyone else in the house who could have tried and failed so ably at breaking the cookie jar [Heather was too little].
To my credit, I did go upstairs and confess. After I ate the cookie, of course.
To my parent's credit, they didn't really get mad. And they also didn't say anything about the crumbs that were probably all over my face.
Honesty does leave a good taste in your mouth, after all.
The rest of the story: the shattered glass cookie jar was replaced by a copper one and from then on cookies lived atop the fridge.
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