Theft of Innocence

Recently we had two separate incidents of theft by friends, but each was completely different and they left me wondering.

The first occurrence happened in our home. I exchange after school care with a friend two days a week. On one day she picks up both of our kids and watches them into the evening and on a second day I pick up the boys for my turn. Needless to say, each boy is quite comfortable in each other’s hone. So, it was surprising when, upon leaving one day, my friend’s son, who we know so well, slyly scooped up a small, green high bounce ball that was sitting on the floor waiting for one of the cats to bat it around. I saw the ball as they walked past because I was thinking I should move it away from the door.

As my friend and her son walked past the spot where the stray ball was resting I realized it was gone.

I asked about it.

The boy denied picking it up.

I asked again, “are you sure you don’t know what happened to the cat’s ball? It was sitting right here.”

His embarrassed mother stopped him on the stairs, he was moving faster than usual to leave. She demanded that he open his hand, now clenched, and yes, there was the errant ball in his fist.

This is a nice boy, he’s not a thief. He looked at his mother, a smart woman, and claimed he didn’t realize it was ours.

“It’s the cat’s,” I said, letting him off the hook somewhat, as he handed it back to me.

His mother told him to apologize and then gently reminded him that he needs to keep in mind that he’s not to take things that aren’t his. She didn’t make a big thing about it, but she addressed it with him. I’m sure they talked further in the car.

Although I have no idea what possessed him to swipe the ball, except, perhaps the romance of a high bounce ball to a first grade boy, I’m still pretty comfortable with him in our home. He’s not a kid who’s going to steal, and I suspect, in the grand scheme of things, he was just testing what he could get away with, where the boundaries lay, the end of his envelope, as my friends and I used to say in college.

The second incidence left me feeling sad. To begin, we need to back up one step. My son has a love of fine detail, elaborate patterns, and gems. So when he received a gift certificate to one of the big box bookstores, he didn’t use it to purchase a book (although he loves books too), he found a lovely pad of paper decorated with an ornate pattern of squiggles and curly lines intertwined with colors all bound and held together by a magnetic cover with a large green plastic gem over the flap. He loves this pad of paper and writes little notes to himself in the car. The pad now lives in the car.

On a Tuesday not long ago, a friend asked if I could bring her son home from school for her. They live about half a mile from us and while our boys go to the same school, and are in the same grade, and have known each other since they were about six months old, they are not friends. When we have had play dates, or exchanged babysitting, I see my gentle soft spoken son trying to get along, but they do not meld well these two boys. Her son is a nice kid, don’t get me wrong, they are just different boys, not a good fit as some say. On this Tuesday, however I saw a side to her son that left me sad and a little confused.

When the three of us got into the car, buckling our seatbelts and discussing our day, both my son and I saw our guest looking at the aforementioned prized pad of paper. At first I almost said something as I saw him start to rip the top pages out, the pages with writing, but then he stopped and closed the pad. I didn’t think much about it, yet.

When I turned down his street instead of ours, my son asked where we were going. To bring our guest home, I told him.
“Mommy, I though we were going to have a play date.” My son asked innocently. I informed him that, when we had stayed after school for an extra half hour that was the play date.

“Good,” was our guests answer in a sharp tone. “I like play dates with my friends, but not my mom’s friend’s kids,” was the nasty conclusion to this conversation. I was stunned and couldn’t believe what I had heard. Perhaps I’m spoiled by my caring son and nephews, and their friends, but this seemed like an incredibly cruel statement leveled clearly at my boy.

I didn’t say anything, but suspected that my son was equally as shocked. And then he asked where his pad was and our guest child said nothing. My boy pressed, “I saw you playing with it,” he demanded in a kind but strong tone.

Denial.
Request.
Denial.

Finally, I stepped in. “Well we know it was in car when we all got in, so we’re going to have to find it before we get out.” And with that, he leapt out of the car as we pulled in front of his house. I stopped him and asked that he open his backpack. Yes, sitting right on top was my son’s beloved pad of paper with it’s bright green plastic gem.

“I don’t know how that got in there.”

“Uh huh.”

I couldn’t bring myself to say anything to his mother, and ultimately, I suspect that this boy is also pushing the ends of his envelope like our other friend.

But there was something different about this occurrence, something cruel, menacing, specific. This boy saw the pad and immediately took it for his own without thought or care for anyone else. How is it different than the other taking the high bounce ball? It’s a gut thing, or perhaps just a little bit more. My son has toys that our other friend loves, truly loves, has had crying fits to continue playing with he loves them so much, and because he loves them he would never take them. He couldn’t fathom depriving his friend of something so beloved. He took something he thought no one wanted.

Adults know the black and white of theft, or rather should. If it’s not yours, you don’t take it. We learn through these trials, through our errors, getting caught, feeling humiliated by our own actions, our own hurt, sorry and sadness.

For the second boy, it seemed that he was already in a place of hurt and sadness, he didn’t care about the effect he had on others. He took the pad because he wanted it and didn’t have a care that it might hurt my son, or perhaps that was the goal. Perhaps he was tired of being pushed together with my son when his mother and I needed to exchange babysitting and that’s why he wanted to hurt him. Perhaps it was just a one time thing, maybe he too felt the humiliation of being caught and learned what he needed to learn, I don’t know. But what makes me the saddest is that it truly felt that he wanted to hurt someone, my son, or me, or his mother. I don’t know what motivated him, but it worked. I still think he’s a nice kid, but perhaps we’re not the right fit for each other.