I stole my dad’s money in the 90s, and I’m not sorry

I grew up in the 80s and 90s, and my dad traveled a lot. Every time he flew, he’d come home with cash from a tip jar at a bar. He’d toss all of the singles into a little ceramic money jar with a slot in it.<br><br>One day when I was over 21, I was out with my dad at a bar when he tossed a five I gave him into the tip jar. I asked him why he did that, and he said it’s kind of rude to tip with a fiver, but with singles it’s more personal. I joked that he’s a high roller and only tips with singles, and he told me that was the key to success.<br><br>I kind of held onto that, and I started to resent him for spending his money on the bar while making me work in the yard. After I moved in with my mom, I felt unappreciated and overworked. I went back to his house one day and grabbed that jar, and when I had time to count it I found myself kind of awestruck. I stared at it for what felt like hours, and I decided to do it. <br><br>I grabbed the jar, threw it in my car, and took it back to my mom’s house. I did not count it until the weekend, but when I did, I found that it was more than 600 dollars. <br><br>I used that money over a few years. I used some on a computer, I used some on a car down payment, I used some on a handheld video game system, and I used a bit on weed. I still have that jar, and my dad still doesn’t know.<br><br>Edit: I was not in college.<br><br>Edit2: I did not steal from him, I took back what was rightfully mine. He paid me a quarter per leaf and an eighth per weed, and he was charging me full price for food and rent. I was getting screwed.