One day this summer I picked Mikey up from camp and we hit a nearby playground where I was subjected to numerous rounds of Gaga Ball. After we got in the car to leave and I was pulling out of the parking lot, Mikey said from the backseat, “Look what I found.”
I turned and saw him holding a cheap plastic toy that looked like a Chinese finger trap.
“Where’d you get that?”
“I found it?”
“You found it? Where? Here?”
“Yeah, on the ground.”
Ew. {italics}
Idling at the exit of the parking lot, I explained to Mikey that he shouldn’t just take things he finds, even if it’s discarded on the ground – not only because it’s gross, but because someone may go looking for it later, once they realize they’ve lost it.
However, since I was being lazy and didn’t feel like parking and walking back to where he found the cheap toy, I told him we would just take it home and dispose of it, but that the next time he finds something to just leave it be.
I pulled out of the lot and just as I started to immerse myself in town traffic, Mikey piped up from the backseat.
“Mom, can we go back?”
“Back where? The playground?”
“Yeah.”
“No, buddy. We’re going home. It’s time for dinner.”
Absolute hysterics.
When I asked what on earth was ailing him, the 6-year-old told me he felt bad that some other kid lost their toy and might go looking for it, and since he took it, that child will be sad when they can’t find it.
“I didn’t mean to take it,” he said through tears.
“Well, I’m glad you are thinking about how someone else feels,” I told him. “That’s very mature of you.”
“Can we go back and I’ll return it?”
No. {italics}
“I bet whoever lost it won’t even bother to go looking for it,” I told him.
More hysterics.
“Pleeeeease, Mom?”
I was in no way, shape, or form turning around in traffic, well past dinnertime, after a long, hot day to go back to the scene of the crime to return the toy. And I know it shouldn’t matter that it was a cheap toy, it’s the principal of the matter.
But we’re not talking about a Nintendo Switch, or a bike, or a cell phone. We’re talking about a plastic Chinese finger trap that likely cost five tickets at the nearest arcade.
“Mikey, it’s OK. It’s fine.”
“But I feel bad!”
Here’s the weird thing about parenting: As much as it’s important for kids to feel empathy for others, and shame when they’ve made a poor decision, and guilt when they’ve done something they know they shouldn’t have, it still hurts to see them feel small.
So I decided to drag my husband into the mess.
“Tell you what … I’ll tell Dad to stop at the playground after he drops you off at camp tomorrow and put the toy back, OK?”
The child dried some of his tears. “OK. Tell him to put it next to the Gaga pit. By the opening.”
“OK.”
“By the picnic table. Kinda near where the sidewalk is.”
“You got it.”
There were more tears when we got home and Mikey told his dad that he “accidentally” took someone else’s toy, but I filled Dad in on the plan to return the item and that we were all going to make it out of the situation alive.
The next morning, the first thing Mikey did was ask about the finger trap. Apparently, Mikey held it in the car the entire way to camp, and even asked if they could stop at the playground first, but my husband assured him he would go and put it back exactly where it was found.
I have never asked about the actual fate of the toy, but my husband will go to his grave with the promise that it was returned.
Here’s hoping the next time Mikey loses something, some other kid doesn’t claim it with a “finders keepers” attitude.
Holly Crocco is editor of the Putnam County Times/Press and mother of a 6-year-old. She can be reached at editorial@putnampresstimes.com.
Comments