The Case of the Missing Mandarins

Dear Mom,

I have an admission to make. This may shock you or amuse you (I hope the latter). At any rate, my desire is that this confession will not make you think any less of your second-born child.

When I was young - perhaps five - you were planning one day to make some kind of a special dessert. I don't remember anything about it except for one thing - it required a large can of mandarin oranges.

I had never tried them before. When I found the open can chilling in the fridge, I just had to taste one. I carefully stabbed just one with a fork and popped it into my salivating mouth. Oh, the sweet, sumptuous joy! Never had I been so enamored of a canned item.

My young brain reasoned that if you wouldn't miss one, you probably wouldn't miss two ... or three ... or four ... I couldn't stop. They were far too delicious to waste putting into some silly, old dessert. Before I knew it, the can was empty. I even slurped up the syrupy juice.

It was then that I realized I was going to get in trouble. Not wanting that to happen, I thought about what to do with the incriminating evidence. If I put the empty can in the fridge or the trash, it would certainly be discovered, and I would be forced to confess. I did the only thing I could think of at the time. I walked it next door to put it in Mr. and Mrs. Matthew's trash can.

My little heart was beating out of my chest as I snuck through their fence. I made as little noise as I could opening their metal trash lid and slipping the can inside. When I let go - to my horror - there was no trash in the metal bin. The can bounced around, clattering with enough noise to rival a marching band. I ran all the way home, up the stairs, and hid in my bedroom for what felt like an eternity, panting until I could get my breath under control.

Later, when you couldn't find your oranges, you wondered briefly if you had left the can at the store, but then you remembered opening it and putting it in the fridge. You asked us kids to search the house. Little Andrea, still in diapers, was too young, and John was yet to be born. That meant three of us were on the hunt. I played along, seeking high and low for the elusive can of mandarin oranges. I remember spending lots of time "looking" under the old oak table. Of course, the can was nowhere to be found, and only I knew why.

Were you suspicious of me? Worse yet, were you on to me? I always wondered and worried. Perhaps the imagination of what would happen if I got caught was worse than any punishment you would have dished out.

Eventually, you gave up, perhaps assuming one of Walter's friends had helped himself to the fruit. You substituted peaches. I don't remember the dessert. I may have felt too guilty - or perhaps full of fruit - to eat even a tiny portion.

So this old mystery is now solved.

Please forgive the five-year-old version of me who just wanted to experience a new taste, even though she should have known better than to empty the can.

Your still regretful, hopefully still beloved daughter,

With love,

Julie

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This is based on a true story. I shared this story with my mom years ago. She didn't recall these events. Whew!