In 1969 I was 9 years old. Just allowed to cross the street by myself. So what does a 9 year old do with this freedom? He goes to Woolco Department store with 2 buddies and gets caught stealing.
Mark & Mike were to friends on my street in Scarborough a borough of the big stink aka Toronto. We roamed around the mall and inside Woolco, until Mark grabbed a Red Baron HW car and slid it in my pants pocket. He then ushered me out to the mall.
Almost clear and SLAP! pressure on my shoulder. I turn to see who it was, It was a lady, a secret shopper the follows sketchy looking kids around and watch them knick stuff like Hot Wheels diecast cars.
Taken to the room for thieving children, I waited for my Mom to pick me up as she was called and told of my stealing.
When she arrived it was nice to see a familiar face and not the bulldog security. She wasn’t happy though. As we walked to the old Valient in the parking lot I tried to explain that it was Mark that…”Wait till your Dad gets home” and ”
what would your Grandparents say of you stealing.”
There’s the scar.
As it turned out, my Grandparents were none the wiser though I did catch shit from Dad, deservedly so. I’ve never stolen again. Though I have permanently borrowed pens, smokes and assorted other crap.
Kids are pretty simple in there thinking. I never though to steal anything until I was showed. It didn’t feel right but I thought, What the Heck.
Take it easy, s