The Great Scuba Caper

May 24, 2019

“Please, dad—don’t do it!” My son’s eyes were pleading as desperately as his mouth, but I remained resolute.

“Something isn’t right, and we need to know. Get in the car!” There was no use resisting, so fourteen-year-old Matt slumped in the passenger seat as I backed out of the driveway and headed down the road to the scuba shop. We pulled in and I mounted the stairs. “Junior,” I shouted, “I want you to take a look at something.” Junior, the owner of the shop followed me down the stairs to my car. I opened the trunk and he peered in.

“That’s mine! And that, and that, and that! I’ve wondered what was going on. Where did you get this?” I filled him in on the last few days before calling the sheriff, while Matt sat dejectedly in the car. 

For his fourteenth birthday, Linda and I bought our son scuba lessons, and since one should never dive alone, I joined him once a week at the high school pool where we learned the ins and outs of scuba diving from Junior, the Red Cross instructor. We rented equipment for the classes and put together a wish list for the future. One day while getting some work done on my car, the proprietor of the garage, who knew we were taking lessons, mentioned that he knew someone who had some equipment for sale and gave me a phone number. I called.

In retrospect, when the phone rang and the voice on the other end identified himself as “Spot,” I should have foreseen that things might not turn out too well, but the lust for a bargain often clouds even the best judgment. I know it did for me. We agreed on a time, and on the appointed day, Matt and I pulled into Spot’s driveway. He greeted us at the front door and welcomed us into his home, a nice ranch. The living room looked like a scuba showroom, and we were like kids in a candy store, picking out gear for ten cents on the dollar. I paid and we loaded everything in the trunk when my conscience kicked in. After all, Junior’s shop was only a half mile down the road. Turns out, Spot and Junior’s son had been heisting things for months and fencing them around town.

Fortunately, the law didn’t charge me with receiving stolen property, and most of the gear was recovered. I thought Junior might give us a discount on future purchases, but the only reward was a clear conscience and a lesson in greed and wisdom. Matt eventually forgave me, and today when we rode our bikes past Riverside Drive, I chuckled to myself as I thought of that long-ago incident I dubbed “The Great Scuba Caper.” I wonder whatever became of Spot or of Junior’s son. I imagine things were a bit tense around that household for awhile. As we rode by, I also gave thanks that I was able to not only teach, but demonstrate to my impressionable son the importance of honesty even when it comes at personal cost, and hope Spot and Junior’s son learned as valuable a lesson as did Matt and myself.