Damon and the Baseball Mitt

It was a sunny summer day in Pointe Claire and Damon and Tyson  were playing in the park.  Damon was about ten years old and Tyson, nine.  We lived in a big house that looked like a fort, until we painted it white, and then it looked like a princess must have lived in it.  It was located only a half a block from the neighborhood park, so it was easy for them to meander down the quiet street to go there and play. It had all those enticing things to delight a kid: slides, sandboxes, swings and a jungle gym. But on this day, the park held another treasure.

Damon came bounding home as if he were on a cushion of air a foot off the ground, full of excitement and holding something in his arms as if it were something that would break into a million pieces if it were to fall.  He was cradling it with a sense of ownership that silently said, 'This is MINE". I think Tyson got the message that this was not an object that would be borrowed but sharing was allowed so they played with it in the back yard until it was time to come in and help get ready for supper.

Don and I were intrigued by this new find.  "Hey, Damon, what have you got there?"  "Its a baseball mitt, found it in the park."  "Oh really?  Let's have a look".  I took the large, well made, Rawlings baseball mitt into my hands and felt its smooth leather and imagined how estatic the child owner must have felt when he received this for his birthday or Christmas, or for some special occasion. How they must have longed for it and then how they must have felt to actually get it!  Did they go shopping for it especially?  or was it wrapped up with paper and bows and ribbons and was it a surprise?  One thing for sure, it was brand new and hadn't even been broken in  yet. I looked in all the nooks and crevices in between the stitches to see if I could find a name or a phone number or any information that would reveal the true ownership of this masterpiece. But there was nothing.

You could see an expression of doubt creep across Damon's face like a mask or a veil. Whatever was going on, he didn't like it much.  Just to be clear, he said, "I found it.  So I can keep it, can't I?"  I tried to make him understand, "Damon, someone has lost this and it must mean a great deal to them". "But", he protested, "there is no name or number so I don't know who it belongs to."  "Well", I said, "after dinner you're going to have to go door to door and ask if  anyone has lost it. Remember, Honey,  whatever you do in life, the same comes back to you.  If you find the rightful owner and return the glove, one day, when you lose something precious to you, you may get it back, but if you keep it and don't even try to find the owner, then that day may have a different outcome."

So after supper, Damon reluctantly, but dutifully, made the rounds in the neighborhood, knocking on each door as he had been instructed.  Each time he knocked, he felt apprehension and a sense he was going to be disappointed and each time he felt a sigh of relief when they would shake their heads and say "No, that doesn't belong here".

Then, unlucky for Damon, but lucky for little Richard, the inevitable happened.  The door opened and Damon saw a woman and a young boy standing there.  Even before he spoke, he knew he had found the home of the glove because of the look of amazement and surprise on their faces.  "Oh you found Richard's glove!! This is so wonderful!  He just got it for his birthday and has been crying for hours since he lost it.  He thought his father would kill him when he found out he'd lost it.  We just can't thank you enough!!" Damon handed over the glove.  The door closed. Damon felt downhearted. He thought to himself that he should feel the same as he did before he found the glove, but he didn't. His experience as the owner of the glove, however pleasurable, was brief.  His short-lived joy was gone. But it was starting to be replaced by something much more meaningful.

He  started to walk slowly back home along the sidewalk, kicking any little stone in his path. A smile came to his lips.  Yes, the joy of owning the baseball mitt was momentary, but the pride he felt in himself for pleasing that young Richard and returning the glove to its proper owner was a feeling that would stay with him forever. His pace quickened and his smile broadened.  It just felt like he'd done the right thing.

But that's not the end of the story. This all happened in 1985.  In 1991, Damon found himself with his Dad, in a far off  island where Napoleon Bonaparte had lived, in a place called Corsica. Damon had just made $400 laboring on the house we had bought in France. That was a lot of money in 1991.  With this hard earned money, he decided he would spend it all on a fancy camera, a Cannon 'Rebel' which he did and which he had brought with him to Corsica. He was so proud of this camera.  It had all the up to date features and he was so excited about it.   Damon and his Dad had gone  to a small bar-restaurant to grab a bite to eat and when they left, Damon froze when he noticed he did not have his camera with him and realized he  must have left it hanging on the chair he was sitting in.  His Dad went back immediately to fetch it for him while he waited in the street. When his Dad came back empty-handed, Damon's heart sank.  He felt sick.  His father felt sick.   It was gone and there was nothing they could do about it.  Damon's Dad suggested Damon go and ask the staff again.  He thought they might have some compassion for him.  Damon was pretty shy then and this was a very difficult thing to ask.  Well, he went in and with teary eyes, explained where he had left the camera and how he had spent all his money to buy it.  But, no, no one had seen it.  Then one kind- hearted waitress took pity on him and said she would check in the back.  Damon was so sad, it was like he forgot to breath.  You can only imagine his relief when the waitress appeared with his camera cupped in her hands. "Is this it?" Damon's smile must have almost touched his ears.

With a great amount of gratitude, Damon sincerely thanked her.  He put the strap over his shoulder and cradled it, much like he had cradled that mitt he found in the park years ago. He couldn't help remembering that baseball glove and thought to himself, I'm really glad I returned that glove to little Richard. Life, after all, does reward us for the good we do to others. Damon never lost his camera again and as far as I know, he continued to do good to people and life gave it back to him in spades.