Member-only story
“You Owe Me!” Reparation And Forgiveness
Can we have one without the other?
Learning the limits of saying “sorry”
When I was 13, Anne Marie Benson borrowed a gorgeous white sweater my grandmother had given me for my birthday. It was cashmere, intricately woven, and I knew it was expensive.
Big surprise. When Anne Marie returned the sweater, it had a large chocolate stain on the front. The intricate weaving captured the stain and looked permanent. In a perky voice, she said, “Oh, that was just chocolate ice cream. It will come out. Sorry.”
I hated her. I wanted to destroy her most prized possession.
“Are you mad?” she asked. “No,” I replied. “I’m just a little disappointed,” I lied.
My mother wanted to know what was hidden beneath my books. She was crestfallen and reminded me that the sweater was a treasure from my grandmother. She couldn’t believe I had not taken better care of it.
I told her that I had lent it to Anne Marie, and she had gotten ice cream on it.
“How is she going to fix it?” she demanded. “She said she was sorry,” I countered.
“That’s it? Do you feel better?” I started to cry.
