Memory Lane

The Book Thief

We have all had our sticky finger moments during our childhoods. I know I am not the only one. When my nephew was a little kid, he would steal anything just because. Once he stole this little blue thing of fingerpaint and did not even know what it was. The point of sharing that is that, we all go through the thief phase when we are kids. But, thanks to good parents and guardians, we are steered away from that lifestyle before it follows us into our future years.

I have always lived by the rules my whole life. I never got detention once in my life, always turned in homework on time, I never got in trouble at home, teachers loved me, parents loved me… I was just a really good kid. I was a nerd, minus the stereotypical glasses and suspenders and pocket protector. But, although I was known as the smart, quiet little innocent girl with the halo on her head, I had a dirty secret. And, I didn’t tell anyone about my dirty little secret until senior year of high school (now that we can laugh at it and think it is cute haha).

What might the quiet, innocent girl, might possibly be doing that is immoral and bad? Back when I was in second grade I would steal books. Yes, I would steal books. That proves how much of a nerd I am. I used to steal books. That’s how much I love reading. A cart full of books was brought into our classrooms certain days and we would have reading time. I would flip through the pages, absorbing the words, creating little kiddie movies in my small head. I loved, and still do, reading. I have loved it since Kindergarten.

It’s not even that my family couldn’t afford them, I had tons of books at home, I think it was because they were right there in my face and my backpack was right there. I don’t even know if I was good at stealing them. Maybe because it was books my teachers did not care. I don’t recall being slick. I guess I was. I would wait until no one was around (I guess I waited until the teacher was not looking), and would ease them into my backpack and I would add them to my book collection when I got home. My parents had brought me so many books already, they couldn’t tell which they had brought and which they did not.

As I got to higher grades, book carts brought into the classroom was replaced with television carts. Televisions are too hard to take, and won’t fit in my backpack. Haha kidding. I had no desire to take a television, no matter the weight or noticeability. A few years later, once the book carts stopped coming into classrooms, I no longer desired to own stolen books. I ended up giving them all away.

I remember how bad to the bone I felt. I had got away with stealing. It was a rush. Staring at my backpack the remainder of the school day knowing I had hot books inside that did not belong to me. Carrying the heavy backpack to my mom’s car like nothing is out of the normal. This is the only time I recall having a naughty moment as a kid. I was a quiet, innocent kid into school, reading, and bratz dolls.

Again, like I said, we all go through that phase. I do not steal anymore, and it was a two-time thing, then the books were donated. So, in a way I’m a bookworm Peter Pan.

3 thoughts on “The Book Thief”

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