01/23/2024
When I was probably around 6 or 7 years old, my mom took me to a local children’s bookstore in Indianapolis called Kids Ink. I used to love walking up and down the aisles and admiring the colorful displays of books and toys and games while my mom browsed good contenders for bedtime stories.
One day while she went to check out and chatted at the counter with the clerk, I stood next to her and looked longingly at the trinkets on the shelves right below, conveniently within reach. I caught sight of a brightly colored bouncy ball and the next thing I knew, I was slipping it into my pocket.
None the wiser, my mom finished paying and we walked out the door. That ball must have been burning a hole in my pocket, because no sooner had we gotten in the car than I started fidgeting with it sheepishly.
After she realized it was not, in fact, a toy from home, my mom looked me dead in the eyes and told me that taking something that I didn’t pay for was stealing and I was going to bring that ball back to the store and apologize.
Needless to say, I was absolutely mortified. I started sobbing out of sheer horror and embarrassment and continued to do so as my mom marched me back through the door, past the few other confused patrons, and right up to the sales clerk.
I honestly can’t even remember how my apology was received, because I was probably crying too hard to be coherent. I gave the ball back and seethed the entire car ride home over the utter humiliation of the experience.
Needless to say—I never forgot that lesson.
That bouncy ball was probably worth less than $1 at the time, and my mom still made me bring it back and fess up.
Because it wasn’t about the ball, it was about the principle.
Fast forward to a few days ago, and my kids had a playdate at a friend’s house. Her mother, my friend, was kind enough to invite us over in freezing temperatures and the kids played inside for hours with her two daughters while we chatted and caught up. They loved the pretend kitchen and the play cash register and at one point were making elaborate “sandwiches” to sell.
At the end of the playdate when it was time to head home, we helped clean up, got in the car, and left.
But as soon as we got to our house and headed inside, I noticed my daughter’s hand covertly stuck inside her pocket.
Immediately sensing something was up, I asked her to show me, and after some brief resistance, she finally withdrew her hand and opened her fist.
In it was $11 dollars and 5 cents of pretend money from her friend’s play cash register.
As soon as my daughter confessed, my son’s conscience must have gotten to the best of him because he also dug in his pocket and produced a red plastic ant.
I had to swallow a laugh at the absurdity of their contraband, but my mind flashed back to me as a little girl, standing in that book store with the stolen ball.
Was it as grievous an offense as stealing from an actual store? Absolutely not.
Were the items of significant value? Likely not.
But it was still taking something that didn’t belong to them.
And someday, that fake money could very well be real money.
(Hopefully I won’t have to worry about bugs.)
As I sternly began to lecture them, they both immediately burst into tears.
We had a long conversation about why we don’t take things that don’t belong to us, and how if we steal things from people, we break their trust in us.
And we sat down the three of us and they wrote apology letters to their friend. Funnily enough, we will be back soon for them to deliver the notes and apologize in person.
I know in the scheme of things, it really wasn’t a big deal. I texted my friend and she was gracious and kind and also got a good laugh out of it.
But it really wasn’t about the $11.05 and the plastic ant.
Just like it wasn’t about the bouncy ball to my Mom.
It was about a valuable, if uncomfortable, lesson.
It was about doing the right thing and making things right.
It was about the principle.
One I hope they never forget.