Deacon Jude Tam Tran

THE ART OF THE DEAL

“Amen, amen, I say to you, everyone who commits sin is a slave of sin” (John 8:34).
“And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:32).

Acapulco, a beach resort town on Mexico’s Pacific coast, had its golden age from the 1940s through the 1960s. Back then, it wasn’t just a vacation spot—it was the vacation spot. Hollywood royalty practically had a punch card. Elizabeth Taylor, Frank Sinatra, Eddie Fisher, Brigitte Bardot—all suntanned and glamorous, sipping cocktails like it was their full-time job. John F. Kennedy and Jackie honeymooned there. Elizabeth Taylor married Mike Todd there. Frank Sinatra crooned about it in “Come Fly with Me.” Elvis Presley practically turned Acapulco into a movie set in Fun in Acapulco.

Naturally, millions of ordinary people like me thought, If it’s good enough for Elvis, it’s good enough for my credit card. And so, they came—sun-seekers, dreamers, and unsuspecting tourists—all chasing tropical weather, warm seawater, golden sand beaches, and maybe just a little Hollywood magic.

You’re probably wondering what any of this has to do with the Gospel of John. Fair question.

Trust me, we’re getting there—via a puppet, a ten-year-old boy, and my oversized ego.

One afternoon, I was strolling along the beach in Acapulco, enjoying the ocean breeze and congratulating myself on how relaxed and cultured I looked, when I spotted a really nice puppet.

Not just any puppet—this was the kind of puppet that would instantly make you the “cool parent” for at least five minutes. It was being sold by a little boy who couldn’t have been more than ten years old. I thought, Perfect. My daughters will love this.

Then reality tapped me on the shoulder. I remembered all the warnings I’d heard: Never pay the first price. Always bargain. Otherwise, you’ll lose your shirt. Apparently, in Acapulco, bargaining isn’t optional—it’s a competitive sport.

At this point, I felt extremely confident. Why? Because I had life experience. Serious experience. When I was about this boy’s age, I sold cigarettes, matches, and chewing gum at a bus station in Vietnam. I was practically a retired professional negotiator. I told myself, this is a level playing field. In fact, I might even have the advantage.

So, the negotiation began.

And it didn’t end.

Minutes turned into half an hour. Half an hour turned into a full hour. Tourists came and went.

The sun shifted positions. I was locked in mortal combat—not with another adult—but with a ten-year-old boy holding a puppet. Eventually, we struck a deal. I paid what I believed was a bargain price.

I was thrilled.
The boy was not.

I strutted back to my hotel room like a Wall Street executive who had just closed a hostile takeover. The puppet instantly became my trophy of the day. I had won. The art of the deal had been mastered. Mission accomplished.

Then Jesus showed up.

Not physically, of course—but through my conscience. In the Gospel, Jesus says, “Amen, amen, I say to you, everyone who commits sin is a slave of sin” (John 8:34). That verse came knocking on my brain at full volume.

Suddenly, the victory didn’t feel so sweet. Questions began to pile up. Why did I give this boy such a hard time? Was it about the money? No—I was on company business expenses. This puppet wasn’t exactly breaking my budget.

So, what was it?

Pride.

Good old-fashioned pride. I wanted to win. I wanted to prove I still “had it.” I wanted to beat a ten-year-old boy at negotiating because, apparently, that’s how fragile my ego was that day. Congratulations to me—I had just committed the first of the seven deadly sins.

St. Augustine once said, “It was pride that changed angels into devils, and it is humility that makes men as angels.” That night, I wasn’t feeling very angelic.

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, wide awake. My mind replayed the scene over and over. How could that boy make a living if he sold things without profit? How many puppets would he need to sell just to eat dinner? Meanwhile, I was lying in a comfortable hotel bed, tortured by my own sense of superiority.

I wanted the night to hurry up and end. Instead, it stretched longer and longer. I was trapped—not by hotel walls, but by guilt. Jesus was right. Sin doesn’t just happen; it chains you. I felt like a prisoner in my own room, a slave pacing in a mental cage.

Morning finally arrived. I jumped out of bed and rushed outside, determined to find the boy and give him more money. I searched everywhere—along the beach, around the hotel, in and out of every path I could think of. Nothing. No boy. No puppet stands. No sign.

Defeated, I wandered back to the lobby and sat down for breakfast. The food tasted like cardboard. My mind was still on the beach.

Then I saw it.

The same puppet—identical—sitting inside a beautiful glass display case in a nearby shop.
Curious, I walked over and looked at the price.

My jaw dropped.

It was half of what I had paid the boy.

In that moment, the weight lifted. The headache disappeared. My soul exhaled. As Jesus says, “And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:32). The truth was simple: that boy hadn’t lost the deal. I had.

He was the real master of the art of the deal—and somehow, I was grateful. My pride was exposed, my guilt dissolved, and my freedom restored.

What did I learn from this “tourist trap” experience? First, never underestimate a ten-year-old with a puppet. More importantly, listen to Jesus. Sin doesn’t have to be dramatic to enslave us.

Sometimes it’s small, subtle, and wrapped in a beachside bargain. Pride, competition, and the need to “win” show up in our daily lives—in meetings, relationships, parenting, and even vacation souvenirs.

Jesus was right: “Everyone who commits sin is a slave of sin” (John 8:34). Slavery doesn’t always come with chains. Sometimes it comes with a trophy puppet and a restless night. And freedom? Freedom often comes with humility—and a quiet lesson learned the hard way.

Do not commit any sin even if it is as small as mine because becoming a slave to sin is not far away at all. It is right next to us.