I’d like to share with you something that happened to me yesterday; it was nothing, yet it was everything, it affected me profoundly, making me remember things I chose to forget, making me see what I wish to ignore.

It was 1:35 p.m., I cursed my situation as I noticed the time and hurried out the door. Things haven’t been good these last few weeks, money is scarce and tempers are abundant. I was supposed to pick my wife and daughter up at 1:10 from school, as usual, time slipped past me.

I drove around looking for the tell-tale blonde heads of my girls amongst the sea of black haired school children in the town plaza. After three trips around the plaza, I spotted them entering the corner abarrotes store and quickly parked.

Upon entering Don Chalo’s little store I immediately saw the girls and paused before joining them as I noticed the peaceful look on my wife’s face as she carefully selected fresh tomatoes and entrusted Isa to choose six small, perfect rolls of French-bread to use with our simple lunch.

At the wobbly makeshift checkout table Isa began to arrange our items, eager to offer ease and grace for Old Man Chalo’s painfully arthritic fingers to process our sale. As my wife made small talk with the other store clients, Chalo announced he would have to charge us for the mini frenchbreads seperate, as he was, for the time being, selling them for commission.

A few moments later our groceries were in a bag and our total was tallied: $62 pesos plus $20 pesos for the bread. My wife promptly gave the kind man a $100 peso bill and scrambled through her purse to produce a $2 peso coin, she then quickly grabbed the handwritten reciept and her change as we scurried out the door. We had almost covered the block and a quarter walk back to the car when she stopped, spun on her heel and proclaimed we had to return; I cursed her for being forgetful and not buying what she needed the first time.

Returning to the store, she did not proceed to shop, but went straight to Don Chalo. It was there she politly asked permission from the other waiting patrons, stepped to the front of the line and placed Don Chalos’ handwritten nota and a $20 pesos bill in his clenched arthritic hand. The store became quiet as she apologized for not checking her change, Don Chalo had not charged her the bread from the seperate purchase.

I felt my cheeks flush with anger as the entire store began to applaude La Teacher. I was annoyed by such utter nonsense, Dear God, it was twenty pesos, not a gold bar. In silence we returned to the car, but once inside I could see the hurt in her eyes. I hated that wounded look; it aggravated me to no end, for I knew she would pass the rest of the day sulking in silence. Enfuriated I demanded to know why she didn’t tell me in the first place that she wanted to return the damn money. It was then she sat up straight and looked me dead in the eyes.

Before I could utter another harsh word, she slapped me with an onslaught of rapidfire truths; the first one left my anger unphased as she coldly replied: “Because I knew you wouldn’t let me go back just to return twenty pesos.” The next ones hit me hard, blow after truthful blow.

“Do you remember when the boys were young, diapers costs $18.50, we didn’t have it many times. Remember how many times we didn’t even have twenty pesos to put gas in the car to get to work? What about when you were drinking and would steal every centavo you could find to at least get $18 pesos for 6 small beers using returnable bottles.” I was shocked into silence. She had proven her point; she won. Twenty pesos, I’m sure she could have given me at least twenty examples of times we were in desperate need, and couldn’t even find the way to get our hands on twenty lousy pesos. How could I deny 89 year old Don Chalo of something that was already his, I wondered how many uses this kind man could find for what my wife had just returned; for what I saw as nothing of value.

As I sit reflecting on our past struggles and present situation, I see how very far we’ve come as a couple; as a family. It angers me to think I had misplaced those valuable lessons and personal strifes we endured, hand in hand. We have come so far, yet somehow, I simply forgot how we got to where we are today. I am angry with myself for the past, for my ignorance. I am furious at myself in the present for my stupidity in forgetting the value of not only twenty pesos, but of true kindness, honesty, and humility.