Greetings, Friend!
I’m writing to you from the shores of Lake Superior today! It is gorgeous here! Life is a bit like a box of chocolates here in May; you never know what you’re going to get—but we are getting the best God has to offer right now. He seems to be in a really good mood right now, and I’m just soaking up every beautiful moment.
On our drive from the Minneapolis airport, we chatted on the phone with Sean, our oldest son, and somehow recalled a memorable family event that occurred years ago up here in the Northland. It was a day that will live on in infamy for us.
The setting: The Golden Glow Café, situated on the main street of downtown Ashland, Wisconsin. The year: I’d say round about 1997, give or take. The cast of characters: Our family, a mom and a dad, and three young kids—a daughter about 9 and two sons ages 7ish and 3ish. Also present are a grandma and a grandpa. There may have been others, but these were the principal characters.
The Golden Glow was a mainstay for folks in Ashland. It served everything from burgers and dogs to dinner plates with all the fixings. My mom grew up in Ashland, so we always saw someone we knew when we dined there. She also knew the servers. It was such an idyllic setting that day. My mom was proud to have her family around her as we sat at the “big table” at the front of the restaurant.
Also in that cafe: A phone booth. I’m talking about a genuine phone booth like you’d see out on a street corner somewhere. Why was there one inside the building? I don’t know, and I didn’t ask questions. It was just there. (This was still a time when public pay phones were a thing.)
We ordered our meals, and then, as children do, they became wiggly. I don’t remember if there were the usual crayons and kid’s menus that kids could use to occupy that “wait for food” time, but hey, who needs crayons where there’s a big ol’ phone booth sitting right there? Not us!
Sean quietly made his way into said phone booth. He sat down on the little chair inside (yeah, this was a nice one with seating and everything) and closed the folding door. I knew he was over there but didn’t think much of it. I hadn’t given him any change to call anyone, so why worry? Who was my 7-year-old cherub going to call anyway?
I’ll tell you who: The police.
As surreptitiously as he’d slid into the phone booth, he slid back out and was back in place at the table, perhaps with eyes just a bit wider than before. He had big eyes, so I didn’t think anything of it. I continued on with the conversation at the table, waiting for our food.
Just then, two police officers walked in the door of the café. There’s something commanding about the presence of police officers to both adults and children alike. We nodded our respectful greetings as they walked by our table and up to the counter. The funny thing was that they didn’t sit down at the counter as if to order lunch, but beckoned a waitress over and began to talk to her.
Sean’s eyes got bigger yet.
The police and waitress exchanged a few words, none audible to us. What did I care? They wouldn’t be here because of us! And then all three of them, two police officers and one waitress turned their heads and looked at . . . us. The waitress was pointing at our table. Dear God, what had we done? Had I ordered the wrong thing on the menu? Was ordering a grilled cheese sandwich all of a sudden a felony?
The three intimidating figures walked toward our table, eyes glowering. The waitress spoke first and then looked straight at Sean.
“Did you dial 911 when you were sitting in that phone booth?” she asked as she nodded toward the item in question.
“We got a call for help from this location,” added one of the officers.
Sean, eyes bigger than they’d ever appeared in his 7 years, quickly responded.
“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t know it would go through! I didn’t put any money in!”
The police officers explained that you don’t need any money to call for help. If you dial 911, your call will go through. After we mumbled our “sorrys” and hung our heads for the appropriate time, the two esteemed officers took their leave.
I could see in Sean’s big eyes that he hadn’t meant any harm. He was just a curious kid who wondered what it would be like to use a phone booth. No money? No worries! The call wouldn’t actually happen, or so he thought.
My dear mother was more scathed than Sean over this incident. Oh, the embarrassment! Oh, the horror! We had walked in a respectable family of a lovely hometown gal and now sat with scarlet letters on our chests.
“I can never come here again,” she said in defeat.
Here’s the thing: In my mom’s mind, everyone in the restaurant saw and heard what happened and thought we were “bad.” The truth: Ain’t no way. Ain’t no way everyone was paying close enough attention to what was happening at our table, and ain’t no way anybody really cared. OR: If they did see and hear and care and thought we were terrible—it doesn’t matter!
Sean has grown into a fabulous adult and law-abiding citizen. He has never unintentionally dialed 911 since then. And I think my mom even got over it and returned to the Golden Glow before it eventually closed. Everything worked its way out.
What is the moral of the story? Let’s not take ourselves too seriously! We mess up! Kids mess up, grown-ups mess up. Sometimes, we do stuff we don’t mean to do. No need to beat ourselves up over it. Admit your fault, say sorry, and then move on and do better. Don’t wallow in the thought that everyone now thinks you’re “bad.” Sometimes, it’s harder to forgive ourselves than it is to forgive others.
May we all be gentle with ourselves this week!
Written with love – – – Patti
I found this photo of the Golden Glow online! Can you see the light brown
wooden phone booth in the background? That’s the front of the restaurant. Where it all happened!