A promise is a promise

My favorite little dolls as a kid were called “Little Kiddles.”  They were to me what Polly Pockets were to my daughter.  They were about two inches tall and made of rubber.

I only had two… Lola the sailor girl who came with a white, rubber sailor hat and her own red and yellow sail boat.  The other was a little brown-haired girl whose name I cannot remember who drove a cute, yellow convertible.   

Lola and her little friend had such fun.  They would try to fit in the little brown-haired girl's car for a day of shopping.  Or, cram in Lola's sailboat for a day on the water.   Lola always sported her sweet sailor hat when she would take a sail on her boat. 

One day, my brother asked me to borrow Lola’s hat.  He had a school assignment to transform an egg into any type of character he desired.  He chose a sailor.  Lola’s hat would make his “sailor egg” complete. 

Being the selfish child that I was, I said no.  He begged and begged but I still said, no.  He promised he wouldn’t lose it.  I still said, no.  Finally, my mother convinced me to let him borrow the hat.   In other words, she made me let him use it.

That was the last I ever saw Lola’s hat.  She became just a sailor girl on a boat with no sassy hat.

About the same time, my mother bought a little bag of bee patches to cover a hole in one of my shirts.  She often used patches to cover holes in my clothes since I was quite particular about what I would wear.  It was much easier to patch a shirt that I loved than try to find a new shirt I would be willing to wear.

She didn’t use the last bee patch in the bag.  I asked her if I could have it.  She replied, “No, you might lose it.”  I begged her to give me the patch much like my brother had begged me for Lola’s hat.

I promised I would never lose it.  She finally relented and handed over the patch.  Days passed and I never figured out what to do with the patch so I put it in my jewelry box for safekeeping. 

Years passed and I never used the bee patch.  Instead, I simply kept it in my jewelry box. 

Today, everyday when I open my jewelry box I see the patch.  I never lost it as my mother predicted.  I promised I wouldn’t. 

As I raised my children, I made promises only when I knew I would keep them.  In our house, a promise is a promise.  I often say, when I’m gone, my daughter gets my jewelry and my son can have the bee patch.  I think that’s fair.

Most valuable bee patch

Moral of the story: Keep your promises and your childhood treasures.