Politics may furnish temporal satisfaction, but it’s unadorned moments of the soul that deserve our heedfulness.

At the tender age of three and a half – young for a hardened criminal – I hopped in the car with my father for an innocent ride to Don’s Drugs, a local drug store which was then located in downtown Ellisville. Looking back, it was a typical childhood day full of innocence, wonderment and curiosity. The most difficult task before me was waiting for mom to tie my shoes, or perhaps it was the burden of having to wear shoes at all. Nevertheless, the world awaited our departure, and I was delighted to be traveling with my dad. Lewis and Clark never tasted such anticipation.

While riding with him, the ultimate destination was of little consequence. Whether it was Disneyworld or the local junkyard, I would have been content either way. It was a time before life had hardened me. And it was not the complex, but the simple things that thrilled me then.

Simple things such as questioning how effortlessly birds would glide on air, witnessing an occasional firefly and tasting my grandmother’s home cooking kept me enthralled for much of my youth.

The burden of stress was not something I had yet shared with the older crowd, as there were no mortgage payments due – at least not from me – no undue responsibility and no longing from personal loss. The human conditions which afflict battle-scarred adults had not yet taken root. I was just a boy, with happiness that flowed from youthful innocence.

Traveling in his car that day was exhilarating. Metal parts, spinning wheels and a whirring engine, though wonderfully interesting, are not what I recall, however. It was instead the simple love of my father I relished. Rest assured, there is no treasure in the world that compares to unconditional love, unless it is the gift of time between parent and child. Saucer like eyes, electric with anticipation, we’ve all seen it – nothing gratifies a young heart more than being asked to accompany one’s hero.

After pulling up to the store and securing a close parking spot – a feat not so unusual back then – I was poised for adventure, with the curiosity shop merely steps away. I still remember a large glass door separating me from my air conditioned destination. It was an obtrusive impediment, seemingly more at ease securing treasure at Fort Knox than keeping me outside in the heat, away from our goal. In any event, I pushed it with all my might. After gentle assistance from dad, the door swung open.

Finding a paradise even Milton could not describe, I was enthralled by the most powerful temptation known to children – touchable stuff. Not just stuff, candy – and lots of it – at eye level, no less.

The sights, sounds and colors were too much for my young mind. It was sensory overload. Within wonderful reach, there was an assortment of colorful gum, sticky suckers and a collection of chocolate surely envied by a nation of Germans – if not Germans, at least the French. If asked to recreate this wonder of ages on canvas, as witnessed by my eyes, Michelangelo himself would have failed. Nations had fought wars over lessor treasures.

Then, with the devil on my young shoulder and opportunity too close to ignore, I reached out for a single piece of gum. Quickly unwrapping the prize, into my mouth it went, unnoticed. To this day, I’m convinced it was the best piece of gum ever savored. I chewed with righteous conviction. Alas, not realizing the unjustness of my accomplishment, I had also chewed without paying.

My father completed his business, and we walked back to the car, saying goodbye to friends. Yet climbing in, he noticed there was something different about me. Maybe it was the sweet smile of satisfaction. Whatever it was, he looked at me with judgmental brow, and asked, “Chris, where did you get that gum?”

Thinking nothing of it, I proudly replied, “The store.” In a lightening quick manner, reminiscent of young Mickey Mantle, he scooped me up and demanded accountability. Little did I know then, but a moment of moral instruction was afoot.

With compassion in his voice, he took the time to explain to me what I had done and why it was wrong. And then with the most simple of demands, he taught me a very complex lesson – “Take it back inside, and tell them what you did.” I remember feeling horrified. Following his instructions, I hesitantly approached the counter and with the wrongness of my act being realized, I found it difficult to breath.

After a short discussion with the owner, which seemed like years, truth became meaningful, I was forgiven and my world was forever changed. The recognition of conscience had crept into my life as never before. Guilt is honesty’s most fearful enforcer and closest friend; my days of ignoring its subtle pleas were over.

The ride home was quiet and uneventful, until we pulled into the carport. I stared at him, tears welling in my eyes, and begged, “Please don’t tell mama.” He simply smiled, and being a forgiving father, he never did.