The Ricker nearly stole a guitar for me.

I tried to learn to play the guitar when I was younger (I never made it much past Nirvana's "Nevermind" and some crappy chord progressions). I started with an old guitar from the 60s, with nylon strings, that my Mom found in a closet. Once I committed to lessons, I moved up to a nicer acoustic guitar (which was one of the most popular items at my "I'm Moving to Manhattan, Let's Sell Everything" garage sale).

I still have one guitar left, though. My cherry red Fender Stratocaster. It's in my parent's storage unit (at least I hope it is). It should be sitting in a case that we bought from a pawn shop. However, the guitar sitting inside could be worth much, much more.

When we went to the pawn shop, we forgot to bring my guitar, so the Ricker grabbed one--a much nicer one--off the wall to check the size on a few cases. We found a case that fit and headed up the the register to pay. Then we walked out onto Nevada Avenue in the Springs and got in the car, with the guitar case in the trunk and the much nicer guitar in the case.

Abruptly, the Ricker jumped out of the car and went to "check out" something back in the store. He grabbed the case and disappeared through the door, reemerging a few seconds later.

He decided to turn this into a life lesson: sort of the, "Son, I almost stole something for you, but then I decided not to because I didn't want to set a bad example."

I still can't believe the reason he returned the guitar was to set an example, not because, you know, STEALING IS WRONG. To each his own, I guess.