COMMUNITY
MAVEN
Editor's Note: This
month Dear Debra is
doing something a
bit different, given an
experience she had
that brings potential
lessons for us all.
Debra Darvick
ur burglar alarm began shrieking
at 2 a.m. Stumbling awake, we
heard male voices downstairs.
As my husband slammed our bedroom
door and slid the lock, I heard one of
them say, "SH**, who turned on the
alarm? Where's ???."
Part of my brain said,"Sounds like
two drunk teens here by accident' The
rest of me pushed the panic button
and grabbed the phone.The dispatcher
kept me on the line until the police
arrived.
When we got downstairs, the officer
said there was "no sign of forced entry'
Our bad. We'd left the door firmly closed
but unlocked. But we had heard voices,
and I told the cops that it sounded like
two drunk teens who'd wandered into
the wrong house scaring us half to
death. I wanted to press charges and
give their soused selves a piece of my
mind.
The officer's tempered reply was to
give me a choice."When I pull someone
over," he said,"I reprimand them or give
them a ticket, not both'
In case he ever pulled me over, I went
for giving them a piece of my mind.
Twenty minutes later, three police offi-
cers returned with the boys — 21-year-
old men, actually. Sure enough, they'd
forgotten where their friend lived.
I shook their hands and introduced
myself. One of them looked good and
scared. The other one immediately
started in with "Ma'am, I am so, so sorry.
I understand ..."
That's when I told this Eddie Haskell
(my millennial readers, Google it) to
close his mouth because he reeked and
understood nothing. I told them how
angry I was. How much they had fright-
ened us. How fortunate we hadn't had a
gun because we would have been well
within our rights to shoot first and ask
questions later.
I was furious and determined to
get through the fumes wafting from
them to tell them just how risky and
stupid they were. I reminded them how
fortunate a life they had, that I imagined
their parents had given them every
opportunity to succeed, sending them
to good schools, clothing them, feeding
them.
As the quiet one looked on and the
brown-noser tried to once again to tell
me that he understood, I told him he
would understand nothing until he had
a child of his own and was projecting
his hopes into the future that held all
kinds of dreams for that child's health
and success. A future in which he'd pray
every single day that his child would
not make dumb decisions, that danger-
ous people would never cross his path,
that he would grow into an honorable
person.
I told him he was probably too drunk
to remember anything, but that I hoped
something of the evening would
remain.The officers led them back up
the street. After checking the lock three
times, we headed upstairs.
A couple of days later, the young
man up the street whose friends these
were was at my doorstep with a huge
bouquet of flowers and a card. His voice
was quaking as he apologized for his
friends' (co-workers, I learned) behavior.
He offered to do extra yard work for us,
anything, anything else, what could he
do to make this up?
I accepted his apology. He wasn't
blameless, but the intruders should
have been at my doorstep with apolo-
gies.
I told him I was seeking the bigger
lessons in this. Maybe those two drunk
men were sent to remind us to lock our
door, perhaps heading off a worse plan
the cosmos might have had in store.
Maybe something got through to them,
and they'll think twice before wander-
ing about three sheets to the wind.
Maybe they'll stay sober for a weekend.
I recalled the choice the cop gave
me — pressing charges or scolding, a
good lesson about tempering anger
and meting out appropriate conse-
quences. My young friend had certainly
learned a few things. He didn't know
the word tshuvah, but he was doing the
hard work of owning up and asking for
forgiveness.
What is our part in our own calami-
ties? What can we learn from them?
What can we teach? How do we show
our gratitude for coming through safe-
ly? My young friend planned to write
the police a note of thanks, something I
can do as well.
I'll go into the new year with his brave
and heartfelt tshuvah bright before me.
As for his co-workers, not a peep. Next
time, they might not be so lucky.
Debra Darvickshares her unique take on life,
books and more at debradarvick.com. Send your
questions to deardebra@renmedia.us or look for an
anonymous question submission form on Debra's
online column at www.thejewishnews.com .
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44 September 20151 IttD
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