The summer I was 15 I babysat for a pair of sisters – my mother’s friends, Dorothy and Jeanie – while they were out of town for the day. That afternoon they left me in charge of two toddlers, a four-year-old and a 10-year-old. While the three younger children were napping and Bobby, the 10-year-old, played outside while I watched TV. About an hour into their nap Bobby got bored and came back into the house.
Behind the house where Dorothy lived was the pasture of a neighboring rancher. This rancher had several horses and a few cattle in this particular field. These horses were quite tame and used to being ridden bareback. Bobby started talking about riding those horses. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I ended up over the fence and on the back of one of those horses. Well, the rancher who owned the meadow called my parents saying that one of their ‘boys’ was riding his horse, and without his permission. My mom and dad knew that my brothers were nowhere near that part of town. They also knew that I was at the Hutchinson’s babysitting, which was just the other side of his fence.
That night when I got home I was in big trouble! Mom grounded me, but before that punishment began she insisted that I go to both the rancher and to Dorothy and Jeanie to apologize for my lack of respect for my job and for stealing the rancher’s horse for a joy ride.
Not only did I lose my freedom for a time, but I lost all of my babysitting jobs for the better part of a year.
That September – when school started once more – my friends, Lisa, Lee and I began shoplifting some small items from the general store. It wasn’t much, just some make-up, cigarettes, and some snack food items. To us it was just a game, we would work hard to fill our pockets with all that we could in the few minutes we had while we waited for the bus. We thought it was great fun to walk out of the store with things that we wanted but couldn’t afford to buy. And she who stole the most items would be the day’s winner.
One of the things hardest to steal was cigarettes as they were kept behind the counter on the wall behind the cash register. But we were all smokers, so at least one of us had to sneak a pack or two of smokes into our pocket every day. At the time we thought that taking these things right out from under the store owner’s nose was challenging and great fun. We also thought we weren’t hurting anyone … until one of the other kids that rode the bus with us, snitched to the store owner.
About the time – at least the same morning – the store owner was told of our escapades, my sister was looking for a pen or something. She thought it might be in my purse, so she went through it while I was doing my chores. Jerri knew that I had a little makeup, but when she found my purse was full of it and a pack of cigarettes, too. She put everything back into my bag and took it to mom.
When I was through with my chores I was called into mom’s bedroom. There in a pile on her bed was my whole stash of stolen make-up and my smokes. Little did I know that while I was getting read the riot act at home, Dick Campbell – the owner of the general store – was relating our crimes to my Pops. Mr. Campbell had been told of our deceit by a boy we went to school with who had caught us putting [ackages of doughnuts into our pockets in the store one Friday morning before we all got on the school bus. After his revelation, Mr. Campbell never let us wait for the bus inside the store on cold winter mornings again.
If I thought that horse stealing carried a heavy punishment, this crime carried a much stiffer penalty, 10 times worse than the last.
When dad got home from work that day, he and mom discussed what should be done to punish me. The first thing that happened was that I was made to take all of my ill-gotten gains back to the store to face Mr. Campbell. He took it all, throwing away the cigarettes and placing the rest in a bag with my name on it under the counter. He did the same thing with Lisa and Lee’s things, too. Then he made us sign a promissory note; a contract that said that we would pay for what we had taken and that we could have it back when it was paid for. It was very hard to admit in public that I was a thief and that I agreed to pay for what I had taken. It was horrible.
As hard as that was, facing my father was even harder; when we got home, he and I went into the laundry room where he beat me with a broom handle and whatever else he could get his hands on for several minutes. I knew that I was in the wrong, so I took everything he dished out … well, that is until he punched me, knocking me out the back door. At that point, I was ‘seeing red.’ This is when I got up, went back into the laundry room and knocked my dad down the back steps. It was the first – and the last – time I ever hit him. And it was the last time he ever hit me, too. I used to laugh about it and say that was the day we each gained a new respect for the other … but I was wrong! While I gained much respect for him, I now know that I had lost all respect in his eyes for many, MANY years.
I am sorry, Dad! I know that I was in the wrong all the way around. I should not have stolen from anyone, it is a sin. But stealing from people we knew and who trusted us was so, SO wrong! And hitting you was wrong, too. Two wrongs NEVER make a right.
Though this was my earliest foray into thieving, it was not my last. When Brandi was four and living with my parents, Jeremy and I were living with family friends, Pat and Teri. I would steal from K-Mart and other local stores, giving the stuff to Teri in order to pay my “rent.” My thought was, ‘It was all small stuff … they would never miss it. And I had to pay my way somehow.’ Again, it was all just a game to me; another thrill and yet another way to run away from reality. I used to brag about never getting caught as a thief. But I now know that this was as bad a sin as my stealing was.
Taker of Another’s Beer? … I don’t remember exactly when this incident happened, but I believe it was in the same timeline as the first of these two incidents.
By way of introduction, my brother Rick was the middle child of the boys in my family. He was quite quiet outwardly, but his devious mind was always working overtime. He had a way of getting people to do whatever he wanted; I think this “talent” was a mixture of genius and evil trickery. He also had a habit of putting events into motion and then standing back to watch them unfold. He was the instigator and trouble maker, but his efforts rarely put him on the receiving end of any punishment for what inevitably happened. Many of you have seen the “Pinky and the Brain” Cartoons, right? Well, Rick is very much the Brainy side of this pair.
One summer evening on a Saturday Rick had his friend Norman for a sleepover. As he and Norm were heading home from one adventure or another they spied a case of beer in the back of a pick-up parked just up the block from our house and across the street from the only bar in town. The owner of the truck was in the bar drinking with friends, so the beer was quite unguarded. Norm was to spend the night with Rick and go to church with us on Sunday, then return home with his parents after services.
During the summer mom allowed us to remain outside until about 9:00 pm. The sun would typically set between 8:00-8:30 pm, so at 9 it wasn’t very dark, yet. On this particular evening, after dinner dishes were cleaned up, the boys and I went out into the yard until it was time to get ready for bed.
I don’t know exactly what Rick and Norman had said, but they dared me to take the case of beer out of the pick-up so they could drink it. It must have been something like I was afraid or chicken, for I can’t see anything else making me try something so daring … and so stupid no matter what it was.
I took the case of beer, drank two cans, and gave Rick and Norm the rest. They must have consumed the remaining 10 cans of it between the two of them. For they both came in stumbling drunk just after dark. Later that evening, they were both throwing up rather violently out the upstairs window for all of their evil endeavors.
For years this tale was never told … but by now it has been recounted often. Why I – or anyone else – would feel that stealing alcohol for consumption by a pair of juveniles was a badge of courage to be worn boldly, I’ll never quite understand. But I have often felt that Rick thought that my thievery that night was a brave and daring exploit I committed just for him and Norm.
Regardless, I know now that my folly was not only mine, it was compounded by the fact that I was participating in their sin too. Without my repentance, I would be rewarded along with them in the end. But I have come to the end of myself and now work only at loving, serving and worshiping the Lord Jesus and not the thrill of my stupid exploits. There will be much more on my change of heart and life when we come to that chapter of my story. But for now, think on Jesus and His exploits and know that He alone is God!
