Natural Born Grifter

I woke up extra early one morning in the summer of ‘87, and immediately began putting on my brand-new Cub Scout uniform.

It was the coolest, with all its patches and adornments. I, of course, didn’t tie the neckerchief right, but that didn’t matter to me.

“You look perfect. Do you remember what to do?” my father asked, as he fixed my uniform.

“Yes sir” I said loud and proud “I look sad when I’m alone, then get happy when people come by and tell them I am raising money for camp.”

“Well then, let’s get going, shall we?”

We arrived at the local IGA around ten. He set up a table with a jug and a sign that said “Camp Fund” written on it in crayon, then stuffed several crumpled bills inside. For several hours, stranger after stranger approached. I told them my story and they gladly put money in my jar.

Later that night, over ice cream, my father handed me a crisp fifty-dollar bill.

“Here’s your cut. Never…never do your partners dirty. You save that for the mark.”

It was the first time my father had taken me to work with him…it wouldn’t the last.