Morals and Principles

When I was just a boy, my father and I were shopping in a convenience store on the corner of the major intersection in my small town. I was browsing the aisles when my eye caught a toy car in a matchbox container.

Just then, a thought came into my mind. What was to stop me from taking it and putting it in my pocket?

I felt a nudge. I couldn’t walk away. What a question that was. Of course, that was stealing and everyone said that was bad. But I knew some people did it.

To do or not to do. That was the question.

It didn’t strike me in that moment what the moral decision would have been. I only wondered if I could get away with it.

The next few minutes were a daze. I felt thrilled. But it was a gnawing thrill. I had to do it.

I wasn’t fast about it. Any sudden movement might alert someone. I took it in my hand and spied to see if anyone was looking at me. Another customer had just left. It was just the cashier, the father, and little old me.

I put the toy in my pocket.

I joined my Dad at the counter as he purchased a few items. My lips were shut and no one looked at me quizzically or asked me any questions. I was sure the guy behind the counter would open his mouth and question me, “Why would you steal that? What did I do to you?” I would be crushed if he did but nothing happened.

A minute later, we had opened the door and the bell rang. I was hypersensitive. All the sounds around me pounded into my head. My left ear suddenly elongated from out my head and traveled into the interior of the shop, right up to the cashier. I was waiting for him to say, “Just a second, you two.”

But, no. It didn’t happen. We stepped down the two steps, the door closed, and we were free in the open world.

I couldn’t move. My feet stuck to the sidewalk. My father, ready to go elsewhere, looked down at me.

The pangs of conscience began to hit me hard. It was a sin to steal. I don’t know why I wanted to do it. I guess I’m a bad boy.

But one thing I knew was this. I had a chance to redeem myself. I had my fun. Iff I left that spot now on the pavement saying nothing, every step we walked away would be one more step into darkness.

“What’s the matter?” My father asked.

“Dad, I have something to tell you.” I pulled out the matchbox car. “I took this…”

My father was gruff as he took me by the arm and walked me back into the store saying something about how it was wrong to steal but I couldn’t hear him.

I had to apologize and then put it back.

The problem was... I didn’t feel like apologizing. I didn’t feel it was wrong to take the toy. I know that everyone else thought it was wrong but… I was just doing an experiment. I wasn’t serious.

And another thing… why can’t we have the things we want? Look at all the stuff in that store. It’s just sitting on the shelf.

The worst thing about what I did was not that I took it but that I pretended I didn’t.

As years went by, I never lost the urge to steal.

I stole at the swimming pool. In between mouthfuls of cinnamon raisin bagels with cream cheese, I would stare at my mother’s purse. She had walked away for some reason and my sisters were in the pool. Maybe it was the sugar from the raisins but my fingers became very sticky.

I already had two transformers toys. They were so cool the way they folded and changed into something else. I even went crazy on the second one. It was fifteen dollars. That’s five more than the regular ones. But there were so many more in the store! When I walked by my father’s wallet on the dresser, I got a little curious. I just wanted to peek inside to see what he had in there. Turns out there were several sleeves of twenty dollar bills. What would he care if one went missing?

I visited Hawaii in my mid twenties. We went into a Barnes & Nobles store. Everyone in there was so stuck up. And me, I had no money in my pocket. Well, that wasn’t true, I had a few bucks. I could have bought that little bar of chocolate but I wanted that thrilling feeling again. I bragged to my friends in the car ride home. As I told my story, I was grinning from ear to ear. They weren’t.

When I was in Japan, a former bride-to-be scolded me when I picked a large grape out of the supermarket and threw it in my mouth. I just wanted to sample it. But stealing was a severe crime in Japan. The relationship went up in smoke.

Life is generally dark for me. I have a lot of depression and anxiety. Not so much because I want to steal but because of everything else. You can only watch so much porn, binge on so much food, and watch so many youtube videos before you get fried.

But there are the moments before sleep or when I have some free time at work. There are those moments I look at the world and begin to imagine how it could be different. What if people didn’t steal? We wouldn’t have to put locks on our bikes. We wouldn’t have to lock our car doors… or even our houses for that matter. Well, I guess people would have to be polite enough to visit only by invitation.

What if everyone was vegan? We would all be a little healthier. We wouldn’t be causing near as much destruction to the environment. We wouldn’t feel the guilt of slaughtering and mistreating our animal friends.

What if people didn’t lie? You wouldn’t have to second guess someone when they talk. You wouldn’t have to carefully consider their behavior over long periods or investigate them by talking to those they know well… and *sigh* you wouldn’t have to tell them how it makes you feel when you catch them in a lie and get the inevitable blow up.

I am 33 years old now and it’s been years since I’ve stolen. That means I’m a good person, right? I rarely lie and I don’t sleep around. I have principles.

The other day, the first customer I met at work gave me a 75 cent tip. Because I don’t keep money in my bank between paydays, those three quarters meant a lot. Buying stuff is fun. Having money and thinking about buying stuff is fun too. A quarter weighs 5.67 grams. But that day, those jangling coins in my pocket felt like 3 heavy rocks sloshing around.

The next day, I decided on getting a Little Debbie’s snack at the ghetto gas station across the street from me.

But there was that familiar nudge.

You see, I’ve been praying to become a better person for years now. I’ve been praying that God would help me accomplish my dream of making movies. I’ve been praying all kinds of prayers.

“God, help me know that You’re there as a fact and not as an assumption. I want to have no doubt.”

“God, help me lose weight and get over my addiction to food.”

“God, help me find my soulmate so I stop ogling women and watching soul-sucking pornography.”

It’s been years and none of my prayers were answered. I was angry.

One Little Debbie’s Raisin Creme Pie was 50 cents. Two was a dollar. What if I bought one and stole the other? I would give them the whole 3 quarters. They’d think they were getting a tip.

But there were cameras in the gas station mart. Would I be able to do it while they weren’t looking? They would have to be distracted and I would have to practice the motions like a magician.

I knew what I would do. The addictive need drived me out my door, down the stairs, and out my apartment complex. I walked across the street with purpose - hyperaware as always. God! did I feel alive…

As I walked toward the front door of the store, I rehearsed my movements in my mind. My principles were nowhere to be found. They didn’t matter anymore.

My success depended on what kind of scene was in the store. Would there be a lot of people? Would there be too many cashiers behind the bullet-proof glass? Would there be someone stocking the shelves who could catch what I was doing in the corner of his eye?

My optimism high, I opened the front door and walked in.

I had lucked out. There were only two cashiers caught up in a conversation and they were out of eyesight of the snack aisle. But I would have to be quick. They could move at any moment. I found my place in the aisle. I already knew what I wanted but I held my spot for a few moments as if I was considering what to buy. There would be no question in anyone’s mind what I was doing, should they gaze over to me. I was also taking the time to adjust myself to the spot. It would take about three seconds to properly conceal one of the Raisin Creme Pies. I would need to make sure no one was watching for those three seconds.

Then there were the cameras. I had already seen that there weren’t any directly pointed at my spot. There was a large beveled out mirror but no one was looking towards it. And anyway, I was a trusted, regular customer. No one would anticipate a thing.

But what if they did catch me? It’s just a 50 cent snack. I could just put it back and apologize. Would that be enough? Maybe they would tell me not to come back to that store anymore. That would hurt. Maybe they would give me looks of disgust like I had betrayed their trust. That wouldn’t feel good either.

Whatever. I was willing to take the risk.

The three quarters were in my right pocket. Before I entered the store, I hatched an ingenious plan. I would place the plastic-enclosed snack in my pocket in the very same second I pulled out the money. That way, if someone was watching, the actions might confuse them. They might actually see the act, but in their mind they would say, “I think I saw that, but he’s a good guy. My eyes probably just played tricks on me.”

Wham, bam, thank you ma’am. I had the snacks, one in each hand. With my thoughts a blur, I sensed the moment was right and went with it. As nonchalantly as possible, I did the trick. In went the package. Out came the money. They didn’t see it.

I approached the counter and gave a basic smile. The two Arab men stopped their conversation as I approached. Did they see what happened? Did a camera I missed record me and send it to a screen in their view?

My heart beat fast as I dropped the three coins in the slot underneath the bullet-proof glass. I nodded to suggest they keep the change and proceeded to walk down the path to the front door. I opened it and walked out.

I consider myself a moral person most of the time. I have some morals anyway. I want to be a vegan one day. I want to find my soulmate and have a beautiful relationship with her. I want to raise moral children. I don’t want to be a complete degenerate. I want to find some kind of career in life that I enjoy which also helps others and thereby buck the trend of the mass of men who lead lives of quiet desperation (see Thoreau).

But those desires are matchlights in the deep underground cave of darker passions.

I described myself recently as someone who likes to talk about moral things. I now realize that I must emphasize the “talk about” part.

I realize that there are morals and there are principles and they are two separate things.

You can scoff at me when I talk about Jesus. That’s fine, go for it.

One thing he says is relevant to me and stays in my mind. When you have God’s law written on your heart, you will always do the loving thing. That’s when you have morals.

When I think about it, principles don’t mean very much at all in comparison. Principles are things you try for and regularly fail at. Morals stay with you because you know in your heart why it is better to choose one action over the other.

The convenience store on the corner in my hometown disappeared years ago. Bookstores and other shops have taken its place. Whenever I go back and visit, I look to see who’s taken that spot. I wonder why it matters so much to me. I wish I could remember the face of the man who stood behind the register.