I don't know how young I was, maybe 12. Old enough to appreciate the act, young enough to warrant it.
I had gone with my mom to the health food co-op. She had also brought along one of her friends, Peggy. We rounded aisle after aisle of whole wheat this and gluten free that. Fresh produce and whole grain bread stared me in the face. And then I saw it. A bottle of sugar, I mean jam. Blackberry Jam, I believe. I wanted it. I plead with my mom. Begged her. Tried to cut a deal. But no way, no how, was she going to buy that bottle of jam. I could taste the sweetness on my tounge just thinking about it, but her determination to stay sugar free was more powerful than all my supplications.
The shopping trip ended. I eventually gave up on the jam and we went home. Peggy also came back to our house. I had gone into my room and was probably sulking when I heard a knock on the door. I opened the door to an angel. Peggy stood there holding the jar of jam I had so badly wanted. From that moment and forever, Peggy had my heart.
I have no idea what happened to the jam. I think I probably scarfed it down in one sitting. But I will always remember that somebody loved me that day. And, even though I can see, now that I am a mom, a myriad of problems this could have caused, I will always be grateful to this little act.