Close your eyes and picture, what do you see? Is our thief wearing a black mask, cruel looking and crude…or perhaps another shade of skin then yourself?
The thief, taking. The thief, fear maker. This thief, a friend, stranger, foe?
I was a thief once, stealing a piece of candy from the bulk bin as a kid – innocence worn from the barrettes of my pigtails down across my entire face. I felt so bad I brought in a nickel and secretly put it on the counter, but not feeling guilty enough to tell the clerk what I did earlier. I figured a nickel was sufficient payment, and they collected the money, even if they didn’t know what it was for.
To this day, I still wish I had told the truth, though my monetary exchange did alleviate the guilt enough to get through childhood.
I met a guy once who dropped a load of money on the ground and was about to drive off. I’ll admit my mind quickly went to fantasies of taking the cash when he was gone, as I picked up the money and handed it to him.
When I think of thief though, I see little me – mini me – taking that piece of candy and eating it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not loosing sleep over this. I was kind of a cute thief too. But, I prefer to limit my thievery to a childhood experiment long since finished.