It’s the principle of it all

I was raised on a Saskatchewan farm at a time when Mom baked bread for a bachelor neighbour to earn $5 a month; my brother’s diapers were cut from Dad’s old woolen longjohns; and Dad blasted underground rock in a northern Ontario gold mine for two years to keep the farm afloat and all of us fed.

But no matter how poor we might have been until the Depression ended and crops picked up again, our parents were scrupulously honest. Their word was their bond. When they made a deal, they stuck to it, no matter how small the amount involved or how difficult it proved to be to live up to it.

All five of us kids followed in Mom and Dad’s footsteps, as two high school students found out the year my youngest brother taught them grade twelve.

One female student had sold $72 worth of chocolates as a fund raiser for a class trip. But when it came time to hand the money over to be added to the proceeds, she trotted out one excuse after another -- she had forgotten to bring the money to school with her; she had left the money at home in her other bluejeans; she was too sick to attend the last day of school.

A few days after the school year ended in June, my brother met the student pushing her baby in a stroller accompanied by her boyfriend.

My brother chatted with her about her baby, and casually asked where she lived.  She readily gave him her address.

About a week later he again met her on the street.  This time he handed her an envelope saying, “This is for you.”  

She accepted the envelope. It contained a summons to Small Claims Court.

About a week later my brother received from the court her payment of $72 plus his filing fee of $15.

The second student, a boy, had no money to buy himself a lunch while on a class field trip.  

My brother advanced the teen $10 with the understanding the student would pay him back.

Again, June and the end of school arrived; the $10 repayment did not.

The lad had begun working as a cashier in the town’s pharmacy. My brother approached him at work and asked when he intended paying back the $10.

In true deadbeat style, the lad feigned outrage. What was wrong with my brother? Why was he so petty as to insist on  repayment of a measly $10?

Rather than argue with the teen, my brother explained to the pharmacist why he needed the teen’s home address.

Because the teen had access to the cash register, the pharmacist obliged.

A few days later my brother returned to the pharmacy to deliver a court summons to the teen.

As in the case of the chocolate seller, a few days later my brother received $25 from the court registry.

At a family dinner  I recounted my brother’s story and his methods for collecting outstanding debts.

A teenage guest, visiting for the first time, reared back in his chair to declare, “That’s stupid.  To go to court to collect ten dollars? That amount isn’t worth the bother.”

My sister and I disagreed with him.  

“It’s not the amount of money.  It’s the principle.  If those two students learn now to be honest and keep their word, they will benefit for the rest of their lives.”

The visitor snorted and rolled his eyes.

We concluded our guest failed to meet our integrity standard and would not be invited back.

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