My Son the Klepto

So tonight I was the recipient of a tearful bedtime confession.

Let's backtrack: I discovered a wad of play money in Jackson's school backpack about a week ago. Lots of crumpled-up fake bills, just shoved into one of the side pockets, surrounded by his mittens and miscellaneous papers and "treasures" (i.e., junk and garbage) that he finds on the floor and in the seat cushions of his schoolbus. When I asked him where he had obtained these faux funds, he stared at me blankly and said, "I forgot."

Man, he's good -- but not that good. You see, "I forgot" is Jackson's not-so-secret code for "I have the memory of an elephant and know exactly what it is you're asking me but there's no way in hell I'm telling you about whatever crime I committed today."

"I forgot" is what he says when I ask him what he had for lunch at school, meaning he REALLY had a bagel with butter. The bagel with butter is one of those lunch alternatives that you can get if your tastebuds don't agree with the meal du jour in the cafeteria, but Jackson, who has made a career out of refusing to try new foods, talks me into letting him buy lunch, insisting he'll try the main entree, and then usually craps out with reliable ol' bagel. He thinks (and he's not too far off) that I'll go crazy if I find out he's been enjoying the same carbfest Monday through Friday, especially because of the haphazard rule I concocted that he can get the bagel, as long as it's not two days in a row. So, depending on the pattern of the week and which days he's ingested what, he'll sometimes tell me about the bagel when I ask him what he had for lunch, and other times simply say, "I forgot."

"I forgot" is sometimes his answer to whose apple fell off the tree at school that day (a behavior-modification technique apparently quite popular with the preschool/kindergarten teacher community). When I hear "I forgot," I now know without outside confirmation that it was HIS apple that fell off the tree.

You see where this is going? "I forgot," in some ways, has become a wonderfully predictable indicator of all that's wrong in Jackson's world, because all it takes is those two simple words to alert me to his transgressions, perceived or real.

So back to the mystery money in his backpack. The red flag immediately ascended upon his stock reply of "I forgot" when asked about the currency's origins. I let it drop, since I knew he'd probably tell me in good time (or slip up). One of his grandpas, however, has been a little more persistent, coaxing Jackson to play "Truth or Dare" with him every night so he can try to find out where the money came from. Jackson hasn't missed a beat, though, and I was beginning to think we were never going to get to the bottom of things.

Little does Grandpa know that slow, steady and nonjudgmental wins the race (if you can call an upset, ashamed 5-year-old a "win"). Tonight, as I tucked Jackson into bed, he suddenly turned away from me and started crying. "Mommy, I have something I need to tell you," he finally said. "I'm a burglar and I'm going to go to jail. I stole the play money from school to give to Sasha because I know she likes pretend money."

I was simultaneously relieved that he had finally gotten this burden off his chest; worried that I might indeed have a klepto on my hands (he's been "finding" other money that his dad and I have left on the counters); alarmed that he actually thought he was a burglar and was headed for the clink; and proud that he had told me the truth with minimal cajoling on my part, of his own free will.

Now how to deal, how to deal...I told him how glad I was he had told me the truth and took responsibility for what he had done and how it must feel good to tell me the truth. I also told him that we did have to return the play money to school, because it wasn't ours, and that we'd let his teacher know that we borrowed it by mistake without asking but that next time we'll make sure we'll ask.

He seemed very upset by that prospect and has since said that he's never going back to school (tomorrow morning should be fun). He's scared that his teacher will be mad, and he's ashamed of what he did. It probably didn't help that members of the local police department had visited his class last week and talked about bad guys and burglars who steal from people and how police throw said bad guys in jail. I could see the wheels in his little head turning....

I wanted to assure him that everything will be fine (as I know it will be), that his teacher will still adore him and will understand that he made a mistake, like everyone does, and that he can't take things without permission again. I don't feel the need to administer any form of official consequence, since I can tell how mortified he is by his own behavior (unless he's totally playing me, in which case you'll probably see us on one of those "Dr. Phil" family intervention specials 10 years down the road).

It sounds so simple to me. But I remember being his age and what a big deal everything seemed to be, especially when you let down the people you love. He wants to mail the money back in anonymously (his suggestion). I balked at first, and in fact I'm still torn, because I want him to know he has to take responsibility for his actions.

But the kid's giving himself an ulcer over the whole situation, and in some cases (at least for a 5-year-old), your own shame is punishment enough. I still have to work out how to send the money back in. But in the meantime, I think I'll let him have the bagel with butter for lunch tomorrow -- even though he just had one today. Read more...