HighWireGirl

I like to give careful consideration to each thought that crosses my mind. They all file in through the same door. Some take seats, others lean against the inside wall of my brain. On busy days, everybody takes a number and waits to see their case worker. The impatient ones get loud and start fights in the waiting room. These half-assed notions make a lot of trouble. They are poorly organized and lack the sense required to become full-blown goals. Still, they are ideas. And all ideas deserve a chance, I suppose.

When I was nine, I stole a hundred dollar bill out of the coffee can where my father kept the cash from his paycheck. I remember thinking, This is a great idea. For two days prior to the theft, I checked on the dough to make sure it was exactly where I saw it last. By the third morning, I'd convinced myself that my parents wouldn't notice if some of it was gone.

I separated one hundred dollar bill from the other money it was with. I looked carefully at what was left. Two other hundreds. Seems like plenty, I reasoned. They'll never miss it. I tucked the loot into the bottom of my shoe and walked around on my crime for several hours.

I'd already gotten real comfortable swiping singles and the occasional fin, here and there. I was familiar with the paltry sums in my mother's pocketbook and the bowl in the kitchen where my Dad kept loose change, spare bullets and a few of his own extracted teeth.

I liked purchasing school supplies from the equipment closet in the fourth grade hallway at St. Raymond's. I bought assignment pads, lead pencils and cartridge pens for myself and boys that I liked. I was a generous thief. I'd score the occasional box of cough drops when Big Mare sent me into the candy store to buy her cigarettes. This way, I could share them in class. Everybody loved Pine Brothers, cherry style.

On the day of the heist while I ate my cream cheese and jelly sandwich, I wondered how I was gonna make change for this big an amount at school without provoking any questions. I needed to devise a plan, a way to let my folks know that I'd suddenly come into a large sum of money without being pestered about its origin. Heck, if they agreed to break down my windfall into more negotiable denominations, I'd be happy to consider a handsome tip for their efforts. With the freedom of my own financial decision-making, I figured I could spend it as I saw fit. You'd think.

I decided to tell them I just found it while digging a hole in the basement. I dug a little trench near an exposed pipe in the floor near the washing machine. I came up the stairs with a spoon in one hand and Ben Franklin in the other. I shared the news of my archaeological find with my mother. She promptly beat my bottom, red raw.

Big Mare started sleeping with her handbag under her bed. The coffee can was moved to an undisclosed location that took me seven months to find - above the plexiglass insert of the drop ceiling in the living room. I knew where it was by the fourth month. I could see the shadow of the round container when the flourescent light was on. But I had to wait until I was tall enough to reach it from a chair with three phone books stacked on top.

I lifted a twenty while they were at church one Sunday. I pretended I was sick. I secretly bought a box of Valentine candy for my teacher from the drug store on the avenue - a big pink one, shaped like a heart. I carried it all the way to school, under my winter coat. My purchase filled me with excitement. Mrs. Dunne thanked my mother for the gift, and I got my ass handed to me right there in front of the rectory.

In the meanwhile, I stole a blank check from my father's checkbook. I had no idea how this piece of paper became money, but I was determined to figure it out. I had my eye on a Mead five-pocket organizer. I just had a feeling this binder would really change my life.

nogard

Ummm whats this about?

HighWireGirl

Oh, dear. I do apologize if you find this story is a stretch. I guess I'm hoping the examples might help to illuminate the path toward other longings. I know I behaved alcoholically before I ever picked up my first drink. Stealing and lying were two big red flags.

Wizard1

.........?

Kaneda8888

HWG

Hmmm, I am not sure that stealing and lying necessarily indicate a predisposition towards an addiction ? I think I am missing something here ?

HighWireGirl

I can only speak for myself. I was looking for attention and these were ways I got it. I could rationalize the most unreasonable behaviors.

Dee74

I was dishonest as a child too...I stole a few things - I felt both entitled and clever - but my grinding Catholic guilt meant I was never very good at that.

For me it was lying - lying for attention, lying to escape retribution, lying to 'big note' myself....

It's not a million miles from those kinds of driven behaviours to drugs and drinking later on....

D

DuncanLove

I remember doing similar things throughout my childhood and beyond. I can absolutely see the correlation between those behaviors and who I am as an alcoholic. Some people may not have experienced this the same way, but it hits home with me. Rationalizing or even overlooking my selfishness is a trait that alcohol has only exacerbated in me. Thanks for your story. It was helpful and an entertaining read.

AlcoholFree66

I too was dishonest as a child and I stole money from my Mum's purse. It certainly makes me uncomfortable to fess up on SR. I think you may be quite right HighWireGirl - there could be a connection!

Try18

Thanks for your post HighWire, not sure why people felt the need to make the 'whats the point' posts above.
I used to tell lies as a child, not anything serious, but they slipped off my tongue with incredible ease. This was definitely early training for my alcoholism and the dishonesty that went with it, in my eyes! I also used to steal food from time to time, 'forbidden' stuff. Doesn't take a genius to work out that was where the seeds of my eating disorder were planted.

Given me food for thought (mind the pun!)

Supersonic

Me also, although the money was for drugs at the time. One form of addiction follows another and in my case deceit has been a common thread, whether that be stealing from my mothers purse 20 years ago or hiding the extent of my drinking today. Finally putting an end to the deceit and regaining self respect is another very good reason to leave the drinking behind.

Mamahawk

I like your story. Great job and I understand exactly what you mean!

LoveMeNow

You are a very talented writer. I "enjoyed" reading your post. And your right, I too loved Pine Bros cherry cough drops. LOL

HighWireGirl

I woke up to these lovely comments this morning! I was hoping that I wasn't alone in my suggestions. Sure, we are all different, but many of us can appreciate some of the same behaviors and feelings. That's what makes sharing humbling and empowering at the same time. Thank you for trusting me with your thoughts.

Marcher13

HighWireGirl you could write professionally. Really. Writers market dot com might interest you.

FreeOwl

I get it.

I like this a lot.

You're a talented writer.

I also had experiences like this in my early childhood.... before alcohol but after the divorce....

I think you may be onto something.

Thank you for sharing.

HighWireGirl

Thank you, Marcher13, for your suggestion. I will check this website out. I am an amateur writer, but I do rather enjoy where my stories have been taking me.

Chicagoan

To me, this was a relevant post.
We all have character flaws.
Those flaws are amplified when
we drink.

Upward2Enlightenment

I was the same way as a child HWG. The red flag I see and the way I was is the thrill of it. I didn't like what I was doing, I felt guilty but the thrill overrode that. When I got older the stealing stopped and the drugs and alcohol took over.

Nuudawn

Great piece of writing and I simply took it as such. I wasn't much of a liar or thief and I became a drunk anyway. I was far too approval seeking for the criminal life. Stifling my voice and potential feels like more of the reason I drowned my life into nothing.

Loved the post nevertheless.