I stole something once. I was really little. Small enough to not yet understand the concept of money. It was a pack of bubbalicious bubble gum. We were in the check out line at the grocery store and I saw it, wanted it and took it. When we got to the car and I was chewing a piece, Mom noticed and asked me where I had gotten the gum. I told her. After explaining that you had to to pay for the things that you wanted or needed at the grocery store, or any store, she made me go back inside, pay for the gum and apologize for taking it. Mom was really unhappy about the whole ordeal, as was I, and I never stole anything from the store ever again. It was a truly mortifying experience.
I hadn't realized that I had done something wrong until she told me. Once I was made aware of the wrong I had done, and took the necessary steps to correct it, I never made that mistake again. When we got home we had a little more of an in depth discussion about money, what it meant to make money (how it's earned through working a job) and exchanging money for goods and services. I could understand concepts very well and I felt terrible about having stolen something. It still makes me feel bad to this day. It's a lesson that I have never forgotten.
Flash forward to the girl scouts meeting my kindergarten year of elementary school where we received a small goody bag with a few Christmas-themed items that included some erasers and a Rudolph the red nose reindeer chap stick. I was thrilled to have the chap stick and took it with me to school and placed it in my cubby with all my other belongings. When it was time that we could go to our cubbies, my chap stick was gone and I observed another girl using it. I will never forget. Her name was Heather. So I told the teacher and she asked me how I knew that it was mine and not, in fact, her chap stick. So I explained that I had received it at girl scouts, that it was unique, a Rudolph chap stick, and that I knew it was mine because it was in my cubby in the morning but was gone later and I saw her using it. So the teacher gets down on my level and tells me, "Honey, you don't want it back." I had insisted that I wanted it back. It was mine. Not hers. I knew she took it. The teacher knew she took it. Why couldn't I have it back? And then the teacher had to explain to me that this other little girl perhaps wasn't lucky enough to get to go to girl scouts and receive a special chap stick and that I ought to just let her have it. I, however, was adamant. I had already learned my lesson about stealing. I wasn't supposed to take things that weren't mine. How could she just take it and keep it? Didn't she know stealing was wrong? Why was she allowed to steal it and then, when caught red handed, get to keep it? What kind of message was this sending to her if she just gets to keep something that wasn't hers? I was furious. I wanted it back. That was when my teacher told me that the girl had already used it and that now it had her germs on it and that if I got it back I would have her germs. And couldn't my mother just buy me a new chap stick after school? I related all this to my mother as soon as school was over and she did, in fact, take me to get a new chap stick. It was cherry flavored (not peppermint) and had chap stick written on it in black and white instead of having a picture of Rudolph with a big red nose. It wasn't the same. This kid took what was mine and then just got to keep it. And I had to sit by and just let her.
That memory is seared into my brain.
I don't really understand why I am the way that I am. I remember things. Memories are like movies in my head that play on repeat if I let them. Memorizing things burns a crystal clear image of whatever it is inside my head like a photograph. It took me a really long time, years after Mom died, but I finally realize that I cannot control other people. The only thing that I can control in this world is my reaction to any given situation. I can't force other people to do the right thing.
I consistently remind myself that all that matters is that I am staying the course. I can sleep at night. I try not to lie. I don't steal. I try not to do anything that I was taught is wrong. I cuss. I say things that hurt people's feelings sometimes, most of the time I don't realize that it might be hurtful until someone else points it out. I feel bad about the things that I have done that I know were wrong or hurtful to others. I hold myself accountable. If nothing else, the memory of my Mother and all that she taught me reminds me to do the right thing.
But what about everyone else????
I hadn't realized that I had done something wrong until she told me. Once I was made aware of the wrong I had done, and took the necessary steps to correct it, I never made that mistake again. When we got home we had a little more of an in depth discussion about money, what it meant to make money (how it's earned through working a job) and exchanging money for goods and services. I could understand concepts very well and I felt terrible about having stolen something. It still makes me feel bad to this day. It's a lesson that I have never forgotten.
Flash forward to the girl scouts meeting my kindergarten year of elementary school where we received a small goody bag with a few Christmas-themed items that included some erasers and a Rudolph the red nose reindeer chap stick. I was thrilled to have the chap stick and took it with me to school and placed it in my cubby with all my other belongings. When it was time that we could go to our cubbies, my chap stick was gone and I observed another girl using it. I will never forget. Her name was Heather. So I told the teacher and she asked me how I knew that it was mine and not, in fact, her chap stick. So I explained that I had received it at girl scouts, that it was unique, a Rudolph chap stick, and that I knew it was mine because it was in my cubby in the morning but was gone later and I saw her using it. So the teacher gets down on my level and tells me, "Honey, you don't want it back." I had insisted that I wanted it back. It was mine. Not hers. I knew she took it. The teacher knew she took it. Why couldn't I have it back? And then the teacher had to explain to me that this other little girl perhaps wasn't lucky enough to get to go to girl scouts and receive a special chap stick and that I ought to just let her have it. I, however, was adamant. I had already learned my lesson about stealing. I wasn't supposed to take things that weren't mine. How could she just take it and keep it? Didn't she know stealing was wrong? Why was she allowed to steal it and then, when caught red handed, get to keep it? What kind of message was this sending to her if she just gets to keep something that wasn't hers? I was furious. I wanted it back. That was when my teacher told me that the girl had already used it and that now it had her germs on it and that if I got it back I would have her germs. And couldn't my mother just buy me a new chap stick after school? I related all this to my mother as soon as school was over and she did, in fact, take me to get a new chap stick. It was cherry flavored (not peppermint) and had chap stick written on it in black and white instead of having a picture of Rudolph with a big red nose. It wasn't the same. This kid took what was mine and then just got to keep it. And I had to sit by and just let her.
That memory is seared into my brain.
I don't really understand why I am the way that I am. I remember things. Memories are like movies in my head that play on repeat if I let them. Memorizing things burns a crystal clear image of whatever it is inside my head like a photograph. It took me a really long time, years after Mom died, but I finally realize that I cannot control other people. The only thing that I can control in this world is my reaction to any given situation. I can't force other people to do the right thing.
I consistently remind myself that all that matters is that I am staying the course. I can sleep at night. I try not to lie. I don't steal. I try not to do anything that I was taught is wrong. I cuss. I say things that hurt people's feelings sometimes, most of the time I don't realize that it might be hurtful until someone else points it out. I feel bad about the things that I have done that I know were wrong or hurtful to others. I hold myself accountable. If nothing else, the memory of my Mother and all that she taught me reminds me to do the right thing.
But what about everyone else????
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