The seven deadly sins meant nothing to an eight-year-old me. Let’s just say if you looked up “goody-goody” in the dictionary, you would not find a picture of me. I did however have self control with a hint of common sense, which typically stopped me from getting into too much trouble. However, it just so happened that one day my brain turned from normal to criminal when I decided to steal something important.

    The day came finally came when my devious self overrode the seemingly autonomic control of common sense. It was a sweltering June afternoon, and I was fresh out of school. My family had the extraordinary idea of mini-golfing at Pirate’s Cove. The only thing on my school-deprived mind was how badly I was going to destroy my brothers, as I was the mini-golf king of the family. As the five of us packed into the navy blue Suburban, I was more focused on the eighteen holes of mini-golf than a surgeon operating on a patient. As I stepped out of car, the salt spray from the Atlantic Ocean filled my nose. Nothing like a cutthroat family game of mini-gold to get a child’s spirits going.

    As a family, we strolled up to the surprisingly menacing wooden hut, I was expecting paparazzi to be flooding me with pictures and questions, as I was the god of mini-golf. My dreams and hopes were partly crushed, but that did not change my mindset. I received my golf club, fit to my less than five foot frame, and took a couple practice swings. And then the part I most looked forward was set in front of me: choosing the golf ball. It was arguably the most important part of the entire miniature golfing experience. If your ball was the slightest bit out of sync, than your hopes and dreams were crushed into the ground. Searching through the color spectrum of golf balls, I spotted my dream ball: a spotless, brand-new, baby blue golf ball. It was love at first sight. I did not want the ball, I needed the ball. It was an incentive to my mini-golf abilities. I deserved that golf ball.

    As my common sense was losing the war with my drive for the ball, I had devised a plan for stealing the ball. At hole eighteen, it was by far the longest hole of the entire course. Also, the hole at the end of the course was not a hole, rather it was a tube to give the ball back to the entrance hut. My plan was fool-proof: act as if I putted the ball in, pick up the ball, and hide it in plain sight as I walked out of the venue. As hole eighteen neared, I started to perspire and my heart was beating out of my chest. I was about to become a sinner and a criminal, at the exact same time.

    The time came. I “putted” the ball into the hole, and snatched the ball before it went in as fast as I could. It worked tremendously. I was not spotted, and the rest was easy sailing. I think the fact that I beat everyone in the game gave me the extra confidence I needed to sin. Shining with loads of triumph with slight hints of anxiety, I felt the adrenaline rush associated with stealing. Unconscious thought took over, and I made the mistake of discreetly telling my older brother about the stolen ball. At this point, I thought all control of my life was gifted into his hands.

    I was now filled to the brim with paranoia. My brother had the remote control of my life, and could press the “ruin” button at anytime. My eight-year-old self did not notice the insignificance of a stolen golf ball at a mini-golf place, as they literally had thousands of the same type of ball. But, I digress. My brother, Jordan, used this as blackmail for the next several years as I failed to understand that the entire fiasco was not even close to being a major crime, although it was immoral.

    Each day he terrorized my life, and I had to abide by what he told me to do. If not, he would tell mom and dad. I knew that if this frightening event actually became a reality, I would have to confine to life in prison. I was a criminal; and I knew that if I did the crime, I would eventually have to serve the time. Deathly afraid of what would happen in prison, I did everything what Jordan said, no matter what it was. I essentially became his personal butler, and had to fan him with a palm frond and feed him grapes. He was Batman, and I was Alfred.

    One of my first experiences with sin was of course not a pleasant one. My brother exploited an eight-year-old me by blackmailing me with a stolen golf ball. I was unaware of any consequences of greed, as I thought the ball was a sign given by the mini-golf gods. The insignificance of the scenario flew right over my head, but still, I was a young sinner who did not know any better. I now knew that karma and sin were not mutually exclusive, and in fact were directly correlated.