Family Shenanigans: My Days as a Petty Thief

I went through an amazing course a few years ago, called JustFaith. It’s worth a click on that link to find out more. One of our assignments was to think about where our ideas about money came from. This is part of a story I wrote in response to that assignment.

(At the end, you’ll find a youtube video w/ commercials from my crime spree hey days. There’s an ad for Speak & Spell (which I had- no doubt contributed to my awesome spelling skills) and an ad for Chewels.)

My Days as a Petty Thief

“No, we’re not getting anything!” It was Mom’s standard refrain in the checkout lane. I know it was supposed to be a big deal when Mom finally broke down and let us have a candy bar, but it was usually a Kit Kat bar. Why? Because she could break it into four (one teensy-weensy bar for Mom, myself, and each of my two sisters). I hated it. I wanted my own bar. The greedy bug took hold of me, and I, at the ripe old age of 5, began shoplifting.

It started small, with gum. I remember sticking a pack of gum in my pocket (do you remember Chewels? They were little pink squares of gum that were filled with gooey sweet syrup). I remember my heart pounding, my face getting hot, I couldn’t keep my breath steady, and I got all sweaty. I walked as fast as I could to the car. And while Mom drove home, I sat in the passenger's seat, sneaking piece after piece until the gum filled my entire mouth. It was deliciously bad. I have no idea if my mom actually knew what had happened then or not. I remember thinking that I was just like the sinister villains I'd seen in cartoons. Me with my stash, “MINE, IT’S ALL MINE!” The crime spree didn’t stop here. It was too easy to take the gum, which I did, quite a lot. So I upped the ante.

The mall was decked out in holiday array so we must have been out Christmas shopping. We rarely went to the mall otherwise. I can’t recall if my dad was there or if my sisters were in tow, after all, I was 5 and still a very central figure to the universe.

We were walking by one of those department store displays. The shelves stocked with kiddie-greed lures, placed at the entrance of the store. One particular shelf caught my eye. Miniature Hello Kitty address books. My belly flopped; my heart soared. Dare I ask? It didn’t cost too much. “Mommy! Oh, Mom. I want one of these, can I have one please? I want it for show & tell. Please, please?”

I don’t recall how she broke it to me that I was out of luck, but regardless it set my criminal mind off the deep end. While she was distracted shopping for something else, I made my way back to the Holy Grail of shelves and managed to slip that little gem into my coat pocket. Then, just for spite, I started loading a few chocolate gold coins into my other pocket.

You can imagine my relief when the alarms didn’t sound as we left the store. I’d done it! I’d gotten away with it. I’d show Mom she couldn’t say no to me.

A few stores later, those chocolates were calling to me (it seems my problem with chocolate goes way back). I gingerly unwrapped a coin and shoved it into my mouth, and just as it started to melt in my mouth-, Mom caught me. Livid is an understatement, and I’d seen Mom pretty darn mad before.

She drug me back to the department store and made me turn over my coins to the clerk. She demanded I apologize and though embarrassed, but not quite not fully remorseful, tears I did it.

Now, please note, I did not turn over, nor confess to having, the address book in my possession. Pay dirt! I made it out of the store and home with my treasure and no one was the wiser. I was delirious. I dreamt about all the friend’s names I’d be adding. It was so grown-up to have one’s own address book.

Well, like the Bible says, pride goeth before a fall, and I was up for a doozey. The next day, I took my little pink vinyl Hello Kitty address book to school for all to see.

I stood up, showed it off during Show & Tell, and sat down beaming. Yes, I was one of those kids who got what they want. You just had to know how to work the system. And, like all good children, I put my stolen loot in my cubby for safe-keeping until lunchtime.

Lunchtime came and to my horror, when I went to retrieve my beautiful little book, it was gone. And who was I going to tell? You can't very well have the teacher help you get back your stolen goods.

It turns out, that my dear friend Amy* (*name changed just in case she happens to read this) coincidentally had been gifted an identical address book.

Thus, my crime spree ended. Be sure your sins will find you out or at least make you wish you hadn’t done them in the first place.