Before Walmart and Target there was Zayre. That asterisk on the billboard had an hypnotic effect on those in the 70′s and 80′s. It lured the people with its siren call of consumerism: buy, buy, buy and you will be happy, happy, happy. Once you were snagged by the alluring tentacles of Zayre, there was no escaping. It caught and you bought.

Personally, I only remember two things from there. My first pair of canvas Pumas that I wore  till ragged and then left it in one of the lockers at Leone Park gym. (Only to see a neighborhood kid wearing it the following week. Hey, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure right?) I also remember the intriguingly sleek and horizontal Kodak film camera. So cutting edge! I know I know. It’s too cliché – a male remembering only the things related to sports and electronics.

remember these?

One late fall we made a routine trip to the Zayre on Clark Street to buy a winter jacket for my brother. It would also be the last time my mother shopped at Zayre. It was also the only time I saw my polite mother get angry in public.

My brother and I used to play this silly game where we would march to the song that was playing in the store. While my mother shopped we would walk around in rhythm to the beat of the song. It’s hard to explain what the purpose of the game was (because there was none). The game got boring real fast and I wandered into the toy aisle where I stood in front of a huge truck display. It was one of those big rig deals you that you find on Kentucky highways carrying smaller cars to yuppies in New York. It was a beautiful combination of hick and slick. At that moment, I had a not-so-brilliant thought. ‘The cars on the truck aren’t tied down to anything. It can fit in my pocket and no one would ever know.’ In a moment of weakness wickedness, I took it. To this day, I am not sure why I did it.

Eventually my mother called us over and we made our way to the checkout line where she paid for my brother’s jacket. I stayed unusually quiet. I remember it was cold outside so my brother put the jacket on and we made our way toward the door until the store manager yelled, “Stop!”

Uh oh.

My mother turned around to see Mr. Zayre huffing and puffing toward my brother. He tugged at his jacket with the tag still on it. In all fairness he was just doing his job, but he incorrectly thought we were walking out with an unpaid jacket. My mother’s face turned red, pulled the receipt out of her pocket, and handed it to the man. She grabbed our arms and stormed out of the store but not before giving the store worker a death stare. To her, to be questioned about her integrity was the worst thing you could do to another person. As a financially struggling immigrant working at a humiliating scrape-your-bones-manual-labor job, to be thought of as a thief, even for a second, had ripped her heart. The lesson was clear: just because you are poor it doesn’t mean you are cheap. Don’t live a cheap life where you cut corners and compromise your morals. There was no shame in being poor but there was great shame in living cheap. I threw out the plastic car in my pocket on the way home. I never thought about stealing anything ever again.

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Years later, it was an amazing thing to see my mother admit that no amount of good character will get her into heaven. Her righteousness, character, integrity, etc. … none of it was sufficient to make her right before a holy God. Instead, she put her faith in Christ, the One with the truest character who took her place on the cross. In view of Christ, she saw her sins, put her faith in Christ, and was covered in His righteousness and love. At the cross, my mother became God’s daughter, right next to her thief son who had also become God’s son.

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These are my thoughts of my mother on her birthday. Happy birthday 어머니.

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