Stealing habit.
Ever since I was little, my momma struggled to put food in our bellies. She worked two jobs as a cashier and waitress but still never had enough money. We got kicked out of our apartment when I was seven because she couldn’t pay rent. After that, we bounced around sleeping on couches or in shelters. Watching my momma stress and scrape to survive ignited something in me at a young age. I knew I had to help take some of the pressure off her.
So I started stealing stuff - little things at first like candy bars and cheap toys from the gas station near our latest motel. It gave me a rush to slip something in my pocket without getting caught. When I showed my haul to the other kids at the shelter, I felt respected. Soon I graduated to swiping comic books and electronics from department stores to sell for cash. I didn’t get a lot, but every dollar helped keep my momma from starving.
By the time I turned twelve, shoplifting was second nature. Bigger stores were more challenging, but I loved testing my skill. The way I saw it, all these rich company owners could spare a few items. I never stole from regular folks. Only big chains that I knew made huge profits. Helping my desperate momma seemed worth the risk.
One day I got busted trying to sneak out some jeans and makeup. guy chased me into an alley before I managed to scramble over a fence. I laid low for a while after that close call, worried they’d report me to the cops. But before long, temptation sucked me back in.
It wasn’t until age fifteen that something flipped in me. Tensions between neighborhood gangs were high that summer. Fights kept breaking out over drug corners downtown. One night three guys got stabbed bad near my place. Ambulances and cop cars swarmed in with the lights flashing. I just remember feeling sick of all the violence tearing our community apart.
That’s when my buddy James came over and said “Let’s get out of here.” He wanted to rob the bodega instead of getting mixed up in the gang mess. I was nervous, but the shop owner had chased us off their stoop so many times over the years. They didn’t care about kids like us going hungry. So I finally agreed to be James’ lookout guy.
As I stood watch outside, guilt started clawing at me. I flashed back to all the smiling shopkeepers my momma made small talk with as she cleaned their stores late at night. Was this who I wanted to become - pointing guns at hardworking immigrants just struggling too? Before I could change my mind, James burst out waving a sack of cash. My heart dropped.
We made it three blocks before the wail of cop sirens sent us running. My legs burned as we ducked through familiar back alleys. But soon the footsteps behind us grew fainter. We’d actually done it - pulled off an armed robbery at age fifteen. I should’ve felt pumped up and proud. Instead I just felt kinda sick.
James and I laid low for near a week before the guilt broke me. Late one night I slipped out my bedroom window and walked to the nearest police station. My legs shook as I turned myself in, but some part of me knew I had to make things right. The cops said the terrified shop owner refused to press charges given my age. But James got locked up since he was eighteen.
I'll never forget seeing my momma’s face crumble when the police brought me home. The shame and disappointment in her eyes cut deep. She sent me off to stay with my grandma in the country to escape the city streets leading me astray.
That year with grandma changed everything. No crowds, no peer pressure - just baby goats to feed, weeds to pull, and my own thoughts. As I helped tend that small farm, my restless spirit healed. I missed my loud, chaotic home at times, but learning the reward of patience and honest work altered me for good.
Now I’m twenty-two and back in the city trying to make an honest living. I know momma still worries about me slipping up. But thanks to some restaurant training in juvie, I’ve stayed committed to putting my hustling skills into legit business. My girl and I recently opened up a little soul food spot in the neighborhood. I may work longer hours slinging barbecue than I ever did doing petty crimes. But the joy of chasing my own dreams instead of running from the law feels incredible. Whenever we serve a customer who can’t afford their usual meal, I just give it to them for free.
Maybe it’s my way of paying goodness forward after causing so much hurt for too long. I’m just grateful to finally be walking in truth.
Thank you for reading my post
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