Over the weekend, my cousin, her middle-school daughter, my girlfriend, and I wandered through a holiday art fair—one of those cozy, colorful spaces where creativity fills the air. As we browsed a booth, I suddenly bent down and picked something up: a crisp ten-dollar bill lying on the ground.
We looked around. We were the only ones in the stall. The artist running the booth didn’t know whose it was. And so began an unexpectedly rich conversation between my younger cousin and me: what to do with the found money.
We ran through the options.
Should we ask for an announcement to be made? But then how would we know if the person who came forward was actually the owner?
Should we give it to the artist? But it’s not hers. What if someone comes looking for it later?
Should we just keep it? After all, we found it. Isn’t that fair?
But then came the deeper questions:
What if that $10 was meant to buy someone’s only holiday gift?
What if this little bill mattered far more to someone else than to us?
And then my middle-school cousin said something that essentially ended the discussion:
“It would be stealing if we kept it. It’s not ours.”
When I offered for her to decide what to do with the money, she opted to hand it to the artist to hold in case someone returned looking for it. And if no one did, she said, the artist could keep it.
I told her how thoughtful, kind, and generous that was.
She shrugged and replied, “It’s only $10… and it’s not mine.”
There was no self-congratulation. No moral grandstanding. Just clarity. Integrity. A simple truth said with the ease of someone who intuitively understands what is right.
