So, there we were last Saturday night, sitting in the middle of Opry Mills Mall in Nashville.
We were eating frozen yogurt in the food court -- my wife, two sons, my sister and I -- and staring at a $20 bill in the center of our table, as if we expected it to come to life and do a trick.
My sister had been first to spot the bill. I heard her suck in a breath of air in the exaggerated way adults register surprise when young kids are around. Instantly, my 8-year-old son pounced.
Mark KennedyAs he stood up, he uncurled his fist to reveal Andrew Jackson -- who, if you haven't noticed, has a mane of hair like Prince circa 1988.
"Dang," I said. "That's a 20-dollar bill."
Basking in the glow of his finders-keepers moment, my son's eyes began to dance. He had just emerged from an hour in the Dave & Buster's arcade and was no doubt thinking about a return trip. But just as we began to explore the possibilities of spending the money, my Daddy brain began to kick in.
"I think we should try to return the money to its rightful owner," I announced.
"How do you propose to do that?" my wife said.
"Well, let's at least put it here in the center of a table so if someone circles back to look for it while we are eating we can give it back," I said.
I saw my 8-year-old son's shoulders drop. He was no doubt thinking: Here goes Dad again, trying to find the cloud in the silver lining.
"I'm just saying, a kid probably dropped it," I explained, "and he's probably crying and upset right now because he can't find his money."
So for 10 minutes, we sat in a circle and watched the folded-up $20, waiting for the sad child I had conjured to return for a happy reunion with his birthday money.
Nothing happened.
Eventually, the conversation turned to formulating Plan B.
"Let's talk this out," I said, sensing that I was losing support for the sad-child scenario.
My sister said she would put the money back under the table where we found it. Under the best-case scenario, the owner would come back and find it, she said. Otherwise, a custodian would probably find it later, assuring it would go to someone who could use it.
Very logical.
My wife, who was perhaps more attuned to my son's emotions, thought leaving the $20 to be found again -- probably by a another random third party -- didn't make any sense.
My 13-year-old son, meanwhile, who had no claim on the money, suggested we pay it forward. He thought we should look for a worthy person to give it to, maybe one of those homeless guys with a cardboard sign.
Eventually, everyone agreed that paying it forward would be a good idea or would at least buy us more time to figure out what to do. So we made it back to Chattanooga on Sunday and somebody tossed the $20 on the coffee table in our family room.
On Tuesday, I asked our 8-year-old son, "Where's that twenty-dollar bill that was on the coffee table?"
"I don't know, it was there a few minutes ago," he said.
That set off a frantic search for our dog, Boise, who has been known to eat money. I opened his mouth and looked down his throat. Nothing. I called my wife and asked her if she had seen the $20.
"I put it on the mantel when I left earlier so the dog wouldn't eat it," she said.
Hoping to put an end to President Jackson's journey, I turned to my youngest son and asked, "So what do you want to do with this money?"
"I don't really care," he said as he blew a cloud of bubbles using soapy water from plastic bottle.
Sometimes when you try to teach a lesson, you learn one instead. In simple terms, sometimes we over-parent, possibly to create parables about ourselves to tell to others. But not everything that happens in life is a teachable moment.
Sometimes life gives you $20, sometimes it takes away $20. It's as random as that.
Which is not a bad lesson, actually.
Contact Mark Kennedy at mkennedy@timesfreepress.com or 423-757-6645. Follow him on Twitter @TFPCOLUMNIST. Subscribe to his Facebook updates at www.facebook.com/mkennedycolumnist.