I’m reading a new book today, it’s set in NZ around the time I was growing up, and one of the teenage characters has just stolen a mascara from a chemist.
This has released a flood of memories from my childhood. I remember being around the age of six, stealing lollies from whatever the local equivalent was of a dairy in England, and getting caught. Of course in my panic I gave my real name and home phone number, rube that I was. Watching TV at home that evening with my family, waiting for the phone to ring, was a feeling of existential dread that has barely been matched in my life since. The phone rang, my father answered and the house was in an uproar. Oddly enough, I don’t remember any punishment, but I do remember my siblings asking me what was I thinking?!?
Fast forward a few years, now living in NZ, I had learned my lesson, and never stole again. Ha ha as if! I was very easily led, and picked up tips from friends, principally the one who grew up to be the antivax naturopath, strangely enough (who is otherwise a lovely person, I must say). It was only ever lollies, though, apart from that one time (or actually several times over the course of one evening) that I stole money out of my dad’s wallet to buy deep fried things at the local chippie. I was never caught again but stopped in my teenage years when I had other things to worry about.
I have no idea if any of my kids ever stole anything? If so they were never caught. Apart from, that is, that one time – again it was from dad’s wallet , and the money went on lollies. It was $50 that time – that’s inflation for you. To be honest I again cannot remember any ensuing punishment, apart from peer pressure and shame from the rest of us.
Is petty theft a stage we all go through? I seem to remember shocking statistics from shop owners on how much of their inventory they lose in this way. I suspect such thievery is also corrosive to the soul. Funny, but not really.