One of my good, eccentric customers came in today. (If I named her, she wouldn't mind, but I don't use real names.) Okay, okay... what do I mean by "eccentric"? I suppose "artistic", "individual", "flaky", "interesting", "out there" ... I don't know, but you know what I mean, I know you do.

A new store has opened next to me. It's high end baby decor & supplies.

My customer noted the arrival of the new business, and made a quick segue way to her own children and their first experience in my store many years ago. They are scarred from the visit.

I don't remember the circumstances, but they were KIDS, and allowed to "express themselves" in ways that put up red flags for me: they might hurt themselves and/or the antiques. Either way - their bodies or my ability to earn a living - an accident would not be a good thing for any of us.

So, I stepped in and called things to order. I taught. I know how to do this. The Mom remembers it as yelling, but as seldom as I do that, I'm pretty sure I'd remember it. Now... I WOULD HAVE been clear, firm, and serious, that's for certain.

As she's retelling me about that day - how the kids STILL remember it, and when she mentions to them that she's coming to visit me again, the kids go through some sort of psychic duck-and-cover joke routine...which got me to laughing harder than my Asthma tolerates.

"Tonight on Channel Seven News: 'ANTIQUES DEALER DIES OF LAUGHTER!'"

As we talked (and laughed) about it, we agreed that each kid - each family - has their personally established level of "common" vs "uncommon" - an invisible dividing line between acceptable and over the top. I was, for them, over the top. "They've only been yelled at twice," she said, "and one was by you."

Okay, scarred lil' chil'ren isn't so funny, but I knew they were doing just fine. I decided to send them a message through their Mom. I dug into my desk, found a large, red, snap-together cartoon Heart, wrote a note in red ink on one of my business cards, put it inside the heart, and asked Mom to deliver it.

It should bring a little surprise and enjoyment to them. It's my way of saying "Let the Healing Begin". I don't question my right or necessity to guard my antiques and means of earning a living. I do regret that sometimes an extra step has to be taken for that to be done, especially with kids. They weren't the first, and they aren't the last. I'll never enjoy it, but that's how it is. What's especially nice is that I now have the opportunity to send a follow up message to these much older, near-adults.

If they send the heart back full of dirt, I will interpret that as a rejection.