A girl-child climbed the three flights of stairs to my apartment on Monday afternoon. She knocked on the storm door and tried to peer through the screen into the house. I stood up from the couch and said hello, startling her. She hadn’t noticed me sitting there.
I walked to the door and asked, “What can I do for you?”
She looked up at me through the screen. Judging by her size, her cunning and her complete lack of guile, I’d say she was about 8 years old. She asked, “Would you like to buy a candy bar?”
I looked down. She had a Nature Valley granola bar in her hands. I was curious. “How much?” I asked.
She said, “Three dollars.”
I said, “Whoa! That’s a lot of money. So, why are you selling the granola bar?”
She looked at me like I was nuts. “For money!”
“Yes,” I agreed. “But is it for something at school or at church?”
She looked confused. “No,” she said.
I decided to try again. “Where did you get the candy bar?” I asked.
“The kitchen,” she answered.
“Hmmm,” I said. “And does your mom know what you’re up to?”
Her eyes grew big and her mouth dropped open. “I gotta go now!” She shouted over her shoulder while clattering down the stairs.