With a four-year-old boy in tow I had one more stop to make before going home: the produce stand. “Can I buy some gum?” he asked. “No,” I said. “You’ve had enough treats from the other stores. You don’t need anything else. Disappointed a bit, but accepting my decision he was, in fact, a very good little guy, obedient, polite, considerate and a joy in my life. I filled the basket with fruits and vegetables and stood in line to be checked out.
Before we got to the cash register I noticed the lower section of the open counter was filled with all sorts of tempting goodies. I looked at my small son and shook my head to remind him that I had already said, “No.” The clerk bagged my purchases and placed them back into the shopping cart, which I wheeled across the parking lot to the car. There was barely room in the trunk for my week’s supply of groceries, but I managed to find spots for these last purchases. Then we could go home.
He climbed into the front seat, sitting quietly next to me as I turned the key in the ignition. With just a bit of trepidation, my loving little boy handed me a wrapped piece of pink bubble gum and said, “Here, mom, I got me some gum and I got you a piece too.” The engine died. My sweet, thoughtful child had swiped me a piece of gum. His first undirected gift for me was stolen property. So, right there in the car, he got the lecture about stealing, as best delivered to a four-year-old, then the directions: “I’ll go with you,” I said, “but you must return these two pieces of gum to the store and you must tell the man at the cash register that you took them without permission, without payment and you are sorry.” Standing in front of the clerk he mumbled his apology and confessed his crime. I was the one who wanted to cry.
The theft happened many years ago. My little boy is all grown up now with a family of his own, and apparently has kept his nose clean. So much so that he is a councilman and a rotating mayor for his small city.
Today Ken and I went grocery shopping. Like his own little boy of long ago, helping is his speciality. Together we meandered through the supermarket stopping at produce first. I select, he bags and arranges the items in the cart in a very methodical manner. Alzheimer’s seems to do that to the brain. He is very compulsive — almost obsessive — about arranging things in his own way. That’s okay because he feels good when he has accomplishing something. At the checkout stand, he asked if he could put everything on the conveyor belt, so I stepped behind the cart and handed him the hard-to-reach items. Step by step we went through the process: scan, ring up, pay the bill and down the conveyor belt where the customers in this store bag their own groceries. I bagged and Ken filled the cart. Keeping my eyes on the adjoining conveyor belt, as well as ours, I had to remind him several times that those other items were not ours.
Finished, Ken rolled the cart into the parking lot and over to our car. Tailgate down, we emptied the cart item by item revealing an extra something underneath it all. There on the bottom of the cart lay a four inch stack of plastic grocery bags which had been placed on the bagging shelf waiting to be hung on the rack for customer convenience, and Ken took them — like son, like father — but he didn’t say anything about taking them for me. No gift intended. Naturally, he assumed they were just something else we bought, and was ready to stuff the loot in our car. “No,” I said, “leave them in the cart. They belong back in the store.” I put Ken inside the car, fastened his seat belt, closed the door and told him to wait for me there.
So what do I say once I get inside? Something like, “My husband took these shopping bags by mistake and I’m bringing them back?” Certainly it was the truth, and they would understand about him having AD but I didn’t want to go there. I was tired and just wanted to go home. Pushing the cart with its incriminating evidence through the exit as someone was leaving, I looked around. Everyone was busy and no one seemed concerned with the contents of my cart, and there, right in front of me was an empty checkout stand and an empty shelf with an empty rack just waiting for a stack of bags. Quick as a shot I removed the bags from my cart, plopped them on the shelf and I was gone. No explanation needed, nor was there a need for the childhood lecture about stealing. In his dementia, even the trip to the store was already forgotten.
Aromick's Blog 
A great example in my life was a kind, friendly man by the name of Ken Romick. It was the summer of 1974 and I had turned 12 a few months earlier. I was to go on my first camping trip and 50-miler hike as a Boyscout. My scoutmaster was Ken Romick, Brother Romick so we called him, though he was not a member of the church at the time.
We spent the week camping and hiking in the beautiful countryside of Hetch Hetchy Reservoir up near Yosemite. We hiked 10 miles a day. The first two days we grueling, as we made our way up the mountains to ascend to heights to which none of us were accustomed. The switchbacks taunted us as we made our way back and forth and up. My backpack grew heavier and heavier it seemed with each turn of the switchback trails. It was at the top of the last set of switchbacks that I soon discovered why my backpack seemed to get heavier after each time we rested. It seems as though a few of the older boys felt it would be amusing to see the expressions on the faces of 2 twelve-year old boys as they discovered that hey had carried a few stowaway rocks in their backpacks up all those switchbacks. I laughed, but was secretly thankful for those rocks, for from that time forth, after liberating my backpack from those rocks I had no problem carrying backpack
The heat of the day and the thin air made the journey tough, but I was twelve and it didn’t matter because I was so excited to be on this trip. Although, I was not as fast as many of the older scouts, my best friend, who was also twelve, my scoutmaster and I brought up the rear of the pack and continued on. I remember the first night feeling nauseous and very unimpressed by the freeze-dried chicken ala king, which was on the menu that night. However, I was glad to be able to rest, at least for the night.
The following day, we continued to climb until finally we reach some of the most heavenly and majestic places on earth…places that I shall never forget. Places like Laurel lake, Beehive grove and Thousand Island Lake where we fished for rainbow trout every morning. Many of us caught fish, dutifully cleaned, cooked and ate them for breakfast. We would fight over the fish eyes and reveled in the fact that we would eat these tiny oddities.
At 3pm most every day, the hot day would become cloudy and muggy and we would be showered in cool refreshing rain. Just for a few minutes, long enough for us to grab our parkas and brave the downpour. We were proud of ourselves for surviving as we did. We learned to be prepared for anything and followed the example of our scoutmaster.
The nights also were a marvel to behold. The sounds of silence, void of noises from the city, yet filled with the lullabies of crickets, and frogs and mosquitoes, the babbling brooks and rivers that we camped nearby. The awesome and wondrous night sky, filled with billions and billions of stars. Our scoutmaster showed us the Milky Way and the big and little dippers. He showed us the North Star, a point of reference that would always guide us on our way.
I would lay in my sleeping bag those nights and stare in awe at the majesty of all that lay before me. I thought of God’s great and wondrous plan and the many worlds he has. I thought of how the shepherds and the wise men almost 2000 years earlier saw the star, which testified of our Savior’s birth.
We learned of trees and poison oak, edible and non-edible things along the trail. We learned respect for the nature around us. We learned to respect each other and of course, to always be prepared. It was only seven days but it was what happened after this trip that changed my character and the course of my life forever.
It was a few weeks later and the appointed time had arrived for our Boy Scout Court of Honor. This was the time that we scouts looked forward to getting those badges of honor and merit! However, this Court of Honor was special because those of us who attended the 50-miler were going to get our 50-miler awards! We would talk of the fun times that we had… How we crossed over a glacier and ate food that had dirt in it… and how our scoutmaster one cold morning had burned his hand because he forgot he wasn’t wearing a hot mitt on one hand as he move the scorching pan to his bare hand. Not only did he burn himself but he dropped the pot of hot chocolate, which spilt over and put out our campfire.
All of the awards we distributed. Applause was given, but I had not yet received my award. Then, Brother Romick, my scoutmaster stood up and called me up to the front of the room, as he had for the other boys. “I want you to know, …” he started, “… in all my years of scouting I have never seen a new scout like Mark. He never complains. He’s not a complainer. He’s not a quitter. He didn’t complain or give up one time the entire trip. He hung in there and never said a word about anything that was uncomfortable, or hard on the trip. I was amazed and impressed. This kid is not a complainer.” He then handed me my award patted me on the back. I believe I grew 12 feet tall that day.
What that statement did for me, that 30 seconds of accolade changed my character and my life forever. An adult had recognized a positive trait in me, told me about it and I believed it! As I grew up, for years when things got hard or difficult I would remember the words that Brother Romick told me and I would remember that I am not a quitter…I am not a complainer! And I would stick to the task at hand and try to change my attitude, because I am not a quitter and I don’t complain. Even now in my adult years, I often think of my scoutmaster, brother Romick, who is now a member of the church, he says because of the example of all the boys in his scout troops…I thank God for that man who showed me the way!