Petty Theft

Tonight, my sister called to tell me that she, my two nephews and my nephew's chickieboom were going out to eat near my house, and would I join them...

I know my nephew's been dying to introduce his girlfriend to me - and where I had plans later in the evening, I agreed to sit with them for a half hour or so.

When I arrived at the restaurant, my youngest nephew was showing my sister an itsy-bitsy rolling pin. "Look what I found!"

Found? From my youthful theiving days (a time that I'm not particularly proud of), I understood what "found" meant... It's got it's roots in the ancient, yet still practiced tongue of "Far Fetch-ed Gibbibble," and it is where we get the English word "Pilfered." The litte rolling pin couldn't have cost more than a quarter - but letting my nephew keep it would be so expensive some day I couldn't stand it... Besides - This is not the first time I've caught him 'finding' things. I don't like the idea that he's simply practicing for some future bank heist.

"Hey, Jill," I said, "Since we're standing in this long long line, why don't I take him to return it?"

She agreed, nervously. See, for a long time, my nephew and I didn't get along very well, but lately we've been doing much better - so I thought maybe we could have a little discussion on the way to return the rolling pin...

"So, do you steal a lot?" I asked.

"Sometimes."

"Well, I have to tell you that one of these days - very likely sooner than later, you'll probably get caught... Do you know what tends to happen when you get caught?"

"No," my nephew likely fibbed to me.

"Well, stores generally put you in a back room and call the police. The police usually come - and you might get taken to the station - and everything will be recorded onto your permanent record. Do you want to be a ten-year old with a record?"

"No," my nephew answered.

"Have I lectured you long enough?"

"Yes."

"Ok - then it's important that we bring this back to the store."

We arrive at the craft store. I ask my nephew to tell me where he got the little bitty rolling pin. He shows me a spot on the ground beneath the side walk sale tables. I look around. I can't find where it came from. I take it from him. "I can't find the bin - I guess we'll have to ask the sales lady where it came from."

My nephew followed me sheepishly.

"Hi, Um, my nephew took this, and we'd like to return it - but would you mind telling him what happens to people who take things out of stores without paying for them?"

"Sure," said the saleslady. She then proceeded to tell a tale that was MUCH MORE than I ever asked for. In fact, no child of a single mom who has a crazy dad should ever hear this:

"Well, we call the police. Then the police come and I'm not really sure what happens then - but I will tell you that since you're too young to be put into jail, they'll take your mom instead. Which means you'll have to live with another family. If your mother seems fit by the court, they MAY let her out... Do you want that to happen?"

Oh, PLEASE! Stop, saleslady! I just wanted to stop at the police.

Before we left, my nephew decided to purchase the rolling pin...

Rolling Pin: Ten Cents
Gas spent returning the rolling pin: $1.98
Humiliation telling my sister what happened: Priceless.