When I was 15, I stole an esky full of drinks from a random campsite.

Not exactly the heist of the century, but it felt huge in the context of my teenage attempts at rebellion.

I was fingered as the perp the next morning. I feared the worst, but the poor bastard whose beers I nicked had other ideas.

In this Friday Fink Tank I share a story Col had never heard. I definitely never told mum or dad!

My selfish teenage idiocy had wronged a good man. I was expecting humiliation and punishment.

Instead, he chose grace and forgiveness.

I don’t even know his name, but I’ve never forgotten him.