Harris: "Bad guys do do bad things. Swiper is a very bad guy. He steals things." (Swiper is the fox from Dora the Explorer. He is notorious for his thievery).
Me: "That's right. Swiper is a thief."
Harris: "And he's a robber."
Me: "That's another name for it."
Whatever you call it, stealing is wrong. Even kleptomaniacs*(like Swiper) are capable of recognizing that their compulsions are a problem. They just have a harder time putting an end to the poor behavior.
*Kleptomania: an irresistible impulse to steal, stemming from emotional disturbance rather than economic need.
When I was slightly older than Harris, I went through what I now refer to as my "klepto" phase. My first two offenses were bookmarks I filched from Book Star (now owned by Barnes and Noble) on two separate occasions. The first time I pocketed the laminated cardboard strip, I felt a guilty thrill. The second time, I just felt guilty.
I did not steal from a store again. Instead I wrapped my sticky fingers around "less-consequential" items: those of my friends and family. I figured that stealing from them would make me less of a "bad guy" because the items had been paid for already- just not by me (remember I was only about 5!). I pocketed all sorts of trinkets over the next couple years: slap bracelets, My Little Ponies, Power Ranger trading cards, Pogs, marbles...all little things that I could take away in my pockets.
My life as a little thief was not particularly adventurous, and I wasn't particularly interested in changing that.
Until one night when I was about eight.
Some friends of my parents had a daughter a little younger than me. The daughter, Erica, had a stuffed toy that I coveted. When we were invited to her birthday party, I brought along a backpack, claiming I needed it for a change of clothes (which was actually true, since we were going to a swim party). I waited until everyone was outside before staking my claim on the toy, then stashed my now-bulging backpack under Erica's bed. When it was time to go, I wrapped my arms around my backpack in an attempt to hide its obvious growth. When my parents mentioned my pudgy pack, I told them Erica had said I could have her toy.
The theft of the stuffed animal was by far my biggest robbery, and my lie ate away at my conscience. Before long I confessed my crime to my parents, who insisted that I return the toy to Erica myself. They drove me over to her house, where I came face-to-face with her parents (Erica wasn't home). I figured that Erica's parents would be furious with me, but instead they invited me inside and offered me a root beer float. As I sat at their kitchen table slurping vanilla ice cream, my guilt intensified dramatically. I hadn't expected such kind understanding.
When we left a little while later, I still felt guilty. But mostly I felt relieved.
I have not stolen since.
I'm sure there's a name for a guilt-turned-relief-induced change in behavior, but even with my love of psychology I don't know what it is!
All I know is...
Don't be a Swiper!
When I was slightly older than Harris, I went through what I now refer to as my "klepto" phase. My first two offenses were bookmarks I filched from Book Star (now owned by Barnes and Noble) on two separate occasions. The first time I pocketed the laminated cardboard strip, I felt a guilty thrill. The second time, I just felt guilty.
I did not steal from a store again. Instead I wrapped my sticky fingers around "less-consequential" items: those of my friends and family. I figured that stealing from them would make me less of a "bad guy" because the items had been paid for already- just not by me (remember I was only about 5!). I pocketed all sorts of trinkets over the next couple years: slap bracelets, My Little Ponies, Power Ranger trading cards, Pogs, marbles...all little things that I could take away in my pockets.
My life as a little thief was not particularly adventurous, and I wasn't particularly interested in changing that.
Until one night when I was about eight.
Some friends of my parents had a daughter a little younger than me. The daughter, Erica, had a stuffed toy that I coveted. When we were invited to her birthday party, I brought along a backpack, claiming I needed it for a change of clothes (which was actually true, since we were going to a swim party). I waited until everyone was outside before staking my claim on the toy, then stashed my now-bulging backpack under Erica's bed. When it was time to go, I wrapped my arms around my backpack in an attempt to hide its obvious growth. When my parents mentioned my pudgy pack, I told them Erica had said I could have her toy.
The theft of the stuffed animal was by far my biggest robbery, and my lie ate away at my conscience. Before long I confessed my crime to my parents, who insisted that I return the toy to Erica myself. They drove me over to her house, where I came face-to-face with her parents (Erica wasn't home). I figured that Erica's parents would be furious with me, but instead they invited me inside and offered me a root beer float. As I sat at their kitchen table slurping vanilla ice cream, my guilt intensified dramatically. I hadn't expected such kind understanding.
When we left a little while later, I still felt guilty. But mostly I felt relieved.
I have not stolen since.
I'm sure there's a name for a guilt-turned-relief-induced change in behavior, but even with my love of psychology I don't know what it is!
All I know is...
Don't be a Swiper!
We are only as sick as our secrets. There is a huge cleansing that comes with confession. People should do it more often. The problem is it takes some insight which many find it difficult to find. Nice post. Brian
ReplyDeleteI love this post! I stole a candy bar when I was four. My mom made me talk to the store manager. I never did it again after that. I love that you consciously thought to bring a backpack to take the toy. That's hilarious!
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