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These Boots Weren’t Made for Walking
I glanced at the clock one more time, wondering when DW and The Tortoise would be home from the swim meet. It had been over for some time. Since DW and I had driven separately, I left after The Tortoise finished her heat. I wanted to get home to make dinner and get The Hare started on her homework. Diving was last, but the whole swim team stayed to cheer them on. They were winning by a hefty margin too.
About the time I expected them to be walking in the door, the phone rang.
“We had something bad happen tonight,” DW said solemnly, “The Tortoise’s brand new Ugg Boots were stolen.”
“WHAT?!” I exclaimed, “That was her Christmas present! Didn’t she lock them in her locker?”
“Well…” DW continued.
“Please tell me she remembered to lock her locker? Why the hell wouldn’t you lock them in the locker?” I barked, cutting DW off.
A knot was forming in my stomach.
“Honey,” he said quietly, “You’re on speaker.”
My heart sank further. I had reacted rather than responded and my daughter was listening to the whole thing.
“I’m so sorry, Mom” sniffled The Tortoise, trying to hold back the tears.
By the time they got home, I pulled my emotions together. The Tortoise came slinking in the back door, pulling off her wet, muddy socks. She had no other shoes. We stood there and looked at each other a few minutes, her eyes brimming with tears. I reached out my arms to embrace her, as she fell into them deeply.
“I’m sorry I reacted the way I did,” I whispered in her ear.
“I’m sorry I didn’t remember to bring my lock for the locker,” she cried.
At about 5pm that evening she went to her locker to grab her cell phone and clear out the locker room of all her fellow team mates. She is one of the team captains. She distinctly remembers seeing her boots in her locker at that time. AT 5:07 she called me to let me know what she wanted for dinner. The other team didn’t stay for diving and had already started packing up and loading their bus. By 5:30 the diving was over, and The Tortoise headed back to the locker room with her team mates. When she opened her locker, her boots were gone.
All of her team mates were stunned. They searched all the lockers, the bathroom stalls, the trash cans and even outside the locker room area. They told their coach. Our coach was amazing and quickly called the opposing team’s coach but only got their voice mail. It was also discovered that a couple of cell phones from other students were missing too. Their swim meet victory was fleeting. As a team, they felt betrayed and empty, even a little heartbroken. The Tortoise was devastated to tell DW what happened and walk through the cold, icy parking lot in her socks.
She should have locked her locker. However, people shouldn’t steal.
The next morning I filed a police report, even though I knew there was less than a slim chance of getting them back. I wanted to show my kids the importance of following through. I also wanted it on record that there was a theft at a school event.
Many tears were shed over the next couple of days. The Tortoise knew she was partially responsible for the missing boots. We agreed to replace them if she paid for half, even though they were her main Christmas present. She didn’t disagree and was willing to give up all the gift money she had. I asked her to wait at least a week, just to see if anything came of the police report.
Amazingly enough, we received a phone call by the end of the week letting us know that the boots had been retrieved. A student from the other team had taken them. The details were unclear as to how they were recovered, but from what I could tell, a girl from the opposing team had turned in one of her team mates to their coach. When the girl who took the boots was questioned, she didn’t deny the incident. She and her parents brought them back. The coach needed me to call him and let him know what I wanted to do about the boots: pick them up or press charges.
Press charges against a middle school student? That seemed extreme. But she did break the law. If there were no consequences, how would they learn the lesson? If there were no consequences, then how would my children learn the lesson? I tossed and turned about this dilemma all night. DW supported pressing charges 100%, besides, what did that really mean in regards to a 13-year-old kid? A fine? Suspension from the swim team? If it had been my daughter, I would have wanted the other parents to press charges and make her accountable.
The next morning I went to the police station with my final decision. I gave the officer all of the updated information and the coach’s contact numbers. They had already reviewed the surveillance tapes and had other information to give me too.
“So – if I press charges, then what?” I asked cautiously.
“Then we handle it all from here, you don’t have to do anything, ” he said, “we’ll let you know when we have your boots.”
I reluctantly left, picturing a very scared little girl waiting at the other school, wondering what kind of trouble she was facing.
Less than an hour later, I received a phone call from the other coach. He gave a brief explanation about how he offered all the kids a “free pass” if they turned in the boots within 24 hours. No questions asked. No consequences. He said the next day, the girl who took them showed up with her parents, voluntarily, and returned my daughter’s boots.
“So, when are you going to pick them up?” he asked.
I was stunned. No questions asked? Voluntarily? Pieces of this story just didn’t fit together – and why offer that kind of deal unless you already suspected that one of your students did indeed steal?
“I won’t be picking them up, ” I replied, “our police department will be contacting you to handle all the details.”
“What?” he said shocked, “So you really are pressing charges? But we got your boots back, isn’t that all that really matters?”
“No – not really, ” I said, suddenly very confident in my decision, “what matters is raising kids to be responsible adults.”
A few days later the phone rang at 7am. It was the officer working our case. He had picked up my daughter’s boots and wanted to bring them by the house so that she could wear them to school. It was an incredibly sweet gesture, but she had already gotten on the bus. He then offered to bring them to her school – again, way above and beyond – but I wanted to see what kind of condition they were in and clean them, so I offered to come get them from the station. He was very appreciative, as was I.
On the way there, I just kept wondering if this would be a turning point for this little girl. Would she make better choices later? Would she and her parents perhaps have more communication? I hoped that this would end up being a positive outcome. When I picked up the boots, tucked inside one of them was a note. The officer had not read it and was under the assumption that it was an apology. I signed the paper work, grabbed the boots and headed home. Once home, I finally pulled out the note:
“Sorry for the inconvenience…”
Inconvenience? You have GOT to be joking!
She then went on to explain that she has the same boots and forgot that she left them on the bus and only wore her flip-flops into our school. After the meet, she put my daughter’s boots on thinking they were hers.
That was her pathetic attempt at an apology. So let me get this straight. She by “mistake” went into someone else’s locker and took out their boots. She didn’t notice that none of the clothes were hers?
And then, once she got on the bus, she didn’t question the fact that she supposedly had another pair of the same boots already on the bus? And, in addition to those two lies, it took her two days and a team meeting to “tell” anyone her “mistake”?
My initial impulse was to make a copy of this ridiculous letter and give it to the police. I wondered what, if any, consequences had been doled out. The anger inside me was bubbling over.
I took a deep breath, folded the letter and put it in a file. This was not my child and I was not her parent. Obviously there were bigger issues here than just some stolen boots, and unfortunately, this is where my story ends. Because really, what could I do about it anyway? Even if I did bring this new development to the police’s attention, whose to say her parents wouldn’t just run out and buy her the same boots to back up her bullshit story?
My daughter, and all her team mates, remember to bring locks now.
Perhaps, one lesson was learned.
Is it okay to let fear fuel you?
Every MONDAY (or Tuesday, if you are always behind like me, but, whatever) join us. Write, post, link-up, share your story and your voice. Be part of carrying the weight of confidence, empowerment and share our mission to empower, inspire, and remind women, parents and children that the time has come to celebrate ourselves! This week we were asked to post a Just.Be.Enough moment based on this question: What Fuels You?
I wanted to be profound, write an amazing anecdote about courage and strength, maybe even suggest that I am driven by some sort of spiritual connection, by community or my family and friends or a passion for the arts. But the truth is, there is only one thing that has been consistent in my life, and really motivates me.
The one thing that really fuels me is fear.
Growing up, my grades in school were a combination of natural ability and fear of being grounded. I didn’t want to miss going out with my friends or dating. The idea of caring about my future truly was not a thought, other than the fact that I knew I didn’t want to live at home with my parents for the rest of my life. I was afraid of being looked at as a “loser” so I went to college, because that is what you do. Dressing nice and keeping up with current fashion trends was out of fear of being “uncool”. I was afraid of not being liked. I was afraid of not being pretty enough or smart enough. I was afraid of not being funny enough. I was even afraid of not being creative enough. A lot of what I did, said, and even wore in my youth was motivated purely by fear of what other people thought of me.
As a young adult, I’d like to say that suddenly changed. But it didn’t. I got married too young, the first time, out of fear of being alone. I dropped out of school out of fear of not being able to finish. (Kind of backwards thinking, I know, but if I dropped out, then no one could say I failed.) I had my first baby out of fear of letting my husband down and maybe even a little fear of letting my family down by not giving them a grandchild, niece or nephew. I stayed in my first marriage way too long out of fear of being a failure, and again, fear of being alone. I went back to college out of fear of not being able to put food on the table as a single mom and I picked a job that was “easy” or “safe” because I was afraid I wouldn’t be good at what I really wanted to be, a teacher.
In this season of my life I am still fueled by fear. Fear pushes and pulls me to make decisions or not make decisions. Sometimes, it still creeps around in ways that keep me from experiencing life to the fullest, or doing things I don’t really want to do, but mostly, I am fueled by the fear of what kind of example I am to my children. I want them to work hard, be kind to others, serve their communities, take responsibility for themselves, have pride in their appearance, and make healthy choices both physically and mentally. My drive to keep a clean house, be organized, volunteer, eat healthy, exercise, play my instrument and even write is hugely based on this fear. A fear of not being enough of someone to look up to and emulate. I fear being “just a stay at home mom”.
My life has had many blessings even though I will never be the perfect wife, mother or friend. Sometimes, I fear that if I sit too long, and stop engaging with the world, that I will become complacent. It is good to be reminded that others do not have the same comforts. Perhaps, it is okay to be fueled by fear as long as you let it empower you to work hard, and drive you towards something productive.
Dreaming and Driving
This summer, I have averaged about 640 hours a week of driving time in the car, getting kids back and forth to sports practices. That is 10.66 hours, and that doesn’t even include any driving time for grocery shopping, play-dates, post office, cleaners or general errands. That also doesn’t include the hours I have spent waiting for some of these practices to be over.
It’s no wonder my house is in such chaos or that we’ve eaten cereal for dinner.
Music booms out of the car speakers. Both of the girls sing at the top of their lungs, sometimes we open the sun roof and let the warm summer sun swish through our hair. Occasionally, I know more than the refrain and sing along, amazed at how well our sounds blend, melting together. The timbre of our voices so closely related, sometimes we sound like one.
My brain constantly pumps information back and forth, like conversations between friends. Some days are filled with “to-do” lists and daily goals. Other days are a medley of unfinished thoughts and possible writing topics. Every day is full of contentment that I am able to have these shared moments with my children. Every day I am thankful we are able to provide so much. No one is grumbling. No one is whining. No one is complaining.
The destination is desired.
Sometimes I am embarrassed or feel guilty for being so happy while others around me struggle. Jobs disappear, marriages become stressed, families fall apart, children don’t get to go to college and seniors can’t retire. My heart tries to understand how I have been so fortunate to ride comfortably around with my children, singing at the top of our lungs, on the way to expensive team sports, while someone else is riding crowded public transportation, to multiple jobs, just to make ends meet.
I am relieved that my children will probably never know what it feels like to be hungry, cold or alone. Their little lives will bloom with the seeds we have been able to plant. They know our love for them is deeper and bigger than religion, race or sexuality. They understand that they will always be able to come home.
But I still worry.
I worry they will not understand what a gift their lives are, and forget to extend grace and compassion to others. My conscious seeks teachable moments to stress the importance of gratitude and giving, but I fear that I fail often. Somehow, as parents, it is our job to not only provide love, encouragement, nourishment and shelter but also to withhold excess, so that our children become balanced adults.
Of course, our own attitudes, behavior and actions are the best examples. Things I continue to work on every day.
That is what I have been conversing with myself while driving today.
