- To clear of blame
I remember being exonerated.
I was young - a mere slice of who I am now; a wee sprout; a little shaver; a tiny tot, if you will. To be more specific, I must have been 6- or 7-years-old. I went to the pantry for a snack, found a plastic baggy with pretzels, and started munching. My memory then goes a tad fuzzy ... until I recall my mother yelling at me about eating an entire box of Girl Scout cookies (the shortbread kind), my father in tow. I tell her I didn't eat them; she holds up my empty plastic baggy as proof, saying something to the lines of, "How could you lie when I have the packaging right here?" I start to cry, as I always do when confronted with authority. It is at this moment that my father pokes his head in the pantry and emerges with a full sleeve of Girl Scout cookies.
To say the least, I was exonerated.