My high school librarian Dale Lyles read my first installment of "Stupidity" and asked if this would be an ongoing series. I never intended it to be, but I felt the need to tell this story as well. I would guess that less than 10 people know about this one, and up until recently, I would have been content to let it die that way. Lately though, I have found that there is merit in sharing your mistakes with others. Even the ones that make you nauseated to recall. Especially when those mistakes changed your life for the better.
It was 1996, and I was 22. (By the way, I was still married to Bryanna and Curt's mother at this time, and would not meet Emily for another three years.) Bryanna was already walking, and Curt was able to sit in the child seat in a shopping cart. My wife and I were proud parents, defying the prophetic words of our mothers and fathers who said "You'll be broke before you know it."
They were wrong, you see. We weren't broke. We had three dollars.
We were also on government assistance in three different areas, and my job was cutting my hours. This was not a proud time for us. That morning my wife had said "We're out of diapers." I knew I was not going to get paid for a couple more days, and I didn't want to ask anyone for help. I had too much pride. I'd already hocked everything I had, and the only thing left was our wedding rings. I didn't want to risk losing our rings to a pawn shop, so I made a decision. A decision that would change my life.
We'd steal the diapers from the store.
After making that decision, I remembered that my last venture with theft didn't go so well. I'd tried to steal a pair of sunglasses from a beach gift shop when I was 17. I got busted. My dad had to bail me out of jail. Now here I was again, staring down the barrel of the same gun. I rationalized that this was different. I was providing for my children. After all, it was only a pack of diapers.
We got to Kmart on Macon Road, kids in tow, our diaper bag in the shopping cart, and mentally prepared to do this. We nonchalantly wandered around the store, pretending to shop, then made our way back to the baby section. I took the cart, and my wife took Bryanna and Curt with her. I reached up for a jumbo pack of diapers, quickly ripped it open and emptied the diapers into our diaper bag. I wadded up the wrapper and pocketed it. I made my way back over to my wife, and told her the deed was done.
After some discussion, we decided that as long as we were risking this, why not get some baby formula too? We were almost out. My wife "kept lookout", and I did my best to avoid the areas with security cameras as I loaded the diaper bag full. By the time we were ready to exit the store, we were now the temporary owners of stolen diapers, several cans of powdered Enfamil AR, and a pack of baby wipes. My wife took the kids to the car by way of the main exit, and I made my way to the exit by the garden center...thinking it would be less "monitored".
As I was exiting the garden center, I noticed something odd. I felt an almost "sixth sense", if you will, saying "This isn't right. Something is strange. Too quiet." I was right. The minute I passed the exit doors, a very large man stepped in front of me and said "Sir, could you step back in the store please?"
I was escorted to the back of the store by two men who told me not to try anything, like running away. When we arrived, I watched as they inventoried my items. One was a store employee with a pricing gun. After the total was figured up, the store security guy laughed. I will remember his words forever.
"Well, my friend. Today is your unlucky day. You see, anything less than $100 is a misdemeanor. Your total here is $101.01. That buys you a nice little felony. You're going to jail for at least two years."
I felt like I was going to throw up.
My wife appeared at the door, and she was in hysterics. My children were with her, crying too. I knew what I had to do. There was no way I was going to implicate her in any of this. This was my decision. I told the security guy my wife had nothing to do with this. He said "Wouldn't matter if she did. You were the one who took the items out of the store. It's all on you."
I was taken to jail, and for the second time in my life, I had to call my father for help. My bail had been set at $5000. My dad let me babble on for a minute, then said words I won't repeat here. He posted my bail, and I walked out of the jail with a court date two weeks away.
I was involved in a church at the time, and ultimately that is what saved my rum-pa-pum-pum. I went to my pastor and asked if he would be willing to testify for me in court. Not to defend my actions, but to perhaps show them I was worth more than a file number on a court docket. My pastor wrote a letter to the judge, saying that were I to go to jail, the children I was working with at the church would miss me deeply.
It worked. I was not convicted of a felony. I got a "get out of jail free" card instead.
In lieu of two years in jail, I was given community service. For one year, twice a week I worked at the Salvation Army. Instead of picking up litter along the roadside, I helped people who were so poor they didn't even have food. Instead of my own "problems" I saw real need every day. It changed the way I looked at my circumstances. On my last day of community service, I hugged the lady who supervised me...thanked her for the new perspective I'd been given.
When I met with my parole officer the final time, I shook his hand. He said with a slight smirk, "Get the hell out of here and don't come back."
Yes, sir.
Yesterday I spoke with that same pastor who wrote the letter for me. I thanked him again, and told him I owed him more than the freedom I had been granted 17 years ago. I have custody of both my children, and I would never have had that opportunity if I'd gone to jail. He said "Oh, you don't owe me anything!"
But I do. More than he can ever comprehend. If one day you happen to meet Rev. Marvin Minton, shake his hand. He's a very good man.
More-so than that, don't ever think your circumstances are so dire that you have to resort to stealing. There is always someone willing to help. Swallowing your pride is much better than sitting in a jail cell.
For those who had no idea about this happening to me, well...there ya go. I decided when I started this blog to be totally transparent about the things I wrote about. Maybe it will have a positive effect on someone down the road. As for me, I haven't so much as considered stealing a pack of gum since. Being a thief means you can't be trusted, and it changes the relationship you have with everyone around you.
I am currently in the early stages of preparing to teach a class of homeschoolers about the Jewish Holocaust. I had no idea when I took on this task how it would effect me. This is real loss. What I had that morning when we ran out of diapers? That was a daisy-path.
I truly, TRULY thank God for the blessings in my life.
