OT - Story: My life of crime

It's amazing how much our stories sound alike. When I was very young,
before going to live with my grandparents, I had to often steal to feed
myself and my sister. I knew it was wrong because I took Mamaw's pretty
Christmas pin one time and felt awful when Papaw found out. Mamaw was my
grandfather's mother.

Once I was "at home" a week with Nannie and Papaw I broke down. It killed
me to know that I had done wrong but felt I had no other choice. (Believe
me when I tell you we were often hungry, cold, and thirsty.) I told them
that I had stolen milk, coke, bread, flour, and diapers and I wanted to get
a job and pay back everyone I stole from. You should have seen their faces.
I thought they were very angry with me and I was devastated. They sent me
outside to play while they discussed what to do. I never found out until
years later that they just broke down after my confession.

Since I was only five at the time I couldn't remember where I had been to
take things from so they came up with a plan. They gave me change for
taking out the garbage, etc. I would then take my money and place it in an
envelope to mail out to the people I had wronged. I can't remember how long
I did this but it left a permanent impression on me. Of course in reality
they stuck my coins in a piggy bank and gave it to me when I was older.

--
Starlia Klopman
www.klopmanstudios.com


"Kathy N-V" wrote in message
.com...
I do not steal. Just don't. If I accidentally take a pen, I'll
drive back and return it, which astonishes people. But "Do Not
Steal" is indelibly marked in my brain, and I'd probably remember it
before I regained my name in a case of amnesia.

Why? Omi, of course - then known as my Mom.

When we were small, my parents were very poor. Dad had to take the
car to work, so Mom walked everywhere with the three of us kids.
Since they don't put housing projects downtown, we often walked for
miles - because taking a bus was too expensive.

One day when I was about three, Mom was at the five and dime, buying
some small thing when I asked to buy a candy bar. Mom looked through
her black change purse, shook her head and told me, "No, we don't
have enough money. Go put it back."

As I walked back to the checkout area to return the candy bar, I
noticed that the cashier was counting out her drawer. Lots of money
there - more than I had ever seen before. I grabbed one bill and
went back to Mom, delighted, to tell her we now had enough money to
buy the candy bar.

It must have been very hard on my mother - a twenty dollar bill was a
_lot_ of money at the time: my father made about $60/week. I'm sure
she could have used it, and heaven knows no one would have ever
suspected the little blonde toddler of the heist.

But no. Mom marched me over to the service counter and in her broken
English, demanded to see the manager. When he arrived, she made me
tell him that I stole money, and was a thief. If he wanted to call
the police and have them take me to jail, I promised I wouldn't cry.

The manager melted. I remember his face far more strongly than I
remember the rest of the episode. He was a young guy, probably in
his twenties, and was stunned by this baby, really, admitting to
taking money off the counter. He told my mother it was all right,
then tried to give me the candy bar I had wanted in the first place.

My mother, near tears, stood up straight and said, "It is NOT all
right. My daughter stole something, and she needs to give it back.
She cannot accept a gift for doing exactly what she is supposed to
do."

We left the five and dime, with the two babies in the stroller, and
me jogging alongside. We still had three or four miles to get home.
All that time, my mother told me that stealing was wrong, and that if
it didn't belong to me, to keep my mitts off it. I remember her face,
tears streaming down as we hurried home with the grocery bag balanced
on top of the stroller, and never, ever forgot.

I've never been tempted by anyone else's belonging's again.

Kathy N-V