To the person who stole my car

To the editor:

Last night I went into the grocery store. When I returned to my car, there was no car. You cleverly used your obvious mechanical talents to drive or haul it away to wherever you are.

I offer you a deal, but first let me explain a few things.

First, my Jeep is a collection of metal, plastic and rubber. If you need it bad enough to steal it, I won’t miss it much, and in time, I’ll get over it.

Earlier in the evening my 8-year-old Cub Scout son, Stephen, and I were working together on his Heritages belt loop. We designed and assembled a poster board presentation with the flags of countries his ancestors came from. We read together a history of his ancestor, Wee Granny Mary Murdoch, who at the stature of 4-feet, 7-inches and the age of 74 left Scotland to pull handcarts from Nebraska to Utah. Wee Granny’s desire to join her family and firm commitment to her faith got her as far as Chimney Rock, Nebraska where she died and was buried in a shallow grave on the side of the trail. Those who knew her noted that “she never murmured or complained” in her many hardships and difficult circumstances.

Stephen and I both shared some tears, hugs, and love for each other. This is our family story. It’s what binds us together. Wee Granny’s spirit lingers near us at times and reminds us to move forward despite life’s difficulties.

So, Stephen’s poster has the name “Murdoch” attached to Scotland, a land that we have never visited but whose blood we feel in our veins. Stephen’s Cub Scout presentation last night was to include his poster and some simple facts about his family. However, I instead found myself standing alone in a dark and windy Wasilla Carr’s store parking with no car in sight.

The first thing Stephen, with his childlike glow and sparkle in his eyes, asked when I returned home was, “dad, did you bring my Scout book?”

This hurts. If you must have the car, we’ll get over it.

We invite you to return the other stuff.

I had to explain to Stephen in the morning where his cherished Scout book, our kilts, and hiking staffs went. I wish you could see the tears. These things represent some of our best times and memories together. Please return them.

I hope, especially during Christmas time, that you can fix this thing you’ve done. We are eager to forgive and forget and move forward. Wee Granny would expect no less.

Ray and Stephen Hafen

Wasilla