I was putting away clothes when I noticed that my son’s new hoodie still had the security tag on it. “Where did you get this?” I asked. He said something about a friend and raced up the stairs. I had a knot of doubt in my stomach. I opened his backpack that night while he was asleep and almost screamed when I noticed a pile of new clothes tags, three more shirts wrapped in security tape, and a store receipt with the barcode blacked out.
My heart raced. I turned to look at him. He was fast asleep with his headphones on and had no idea I was there. My 13-year-old child, who is sweet, goofy, and addicted to video games, was keeping something important from me. I was sitting on his carpet, surrounded by clothes I didn’t remember buying, and trying to figure things out.
I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to point the finger at someone else right away. His friends might have pressured him to do it. Someone might have handed him things that were stolen. Or maybe he just didn’t know what he was doing. But those notions were more about making me feel better than they were real.
I waited until we were alone in the car the next morning to talk about it. I didn’t yell. I questioned him again, in a hushed voice, “Where did you get the hoodie?” And what about the shirts? He stared out the window for a long time. He said, “I took them,” in a voice that was hard to hear. From the Hillside Mall.
My stomach dropped.
I came to a standstill. I was shaking as I drove. “Why?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm even though my heart hurt. He shrugged, and tears welled up in his eyes. “I only wanted to look cool.” People at school have new items. I’m sick of being the only one who wears clothes that were passed down to me.
That hurt a lot. We weren’t poor, but life had been hard since the divorce. His dad sent what he could, but I was working two part-time jobs, so I didn’t get new clothes very often.
After that, I didn’t say much. He took us home, and we were both quiet. There was a lot of tension between us. That night, I sat in my room and thought about what to do. I wanted to keep him grounded for a month. I wanted to yell, cry, and put all my money in a safe. But it was crucial to me that he knew what this meant for him, both legally and morally.
So I came up with a strategy.
I told him we were leaving the next morning. “Where?” he asked, glancing around. I said, “To fix this.” We drove back to the mall in the Hillside. He looked like he was about to throw up when I parked. “Are we going to the police?” he asked. I shook my head. “No.” But we are being honest.
We both headed into the store. I could feel his fingers shaking in mine. I asked for the manager and told him everything: how my kid took the things, how we wanted to give them back, and how he was ready to say he was sorry. The manager was a woman who was about my age. She stared at me for a long time, then at my son.
I was shocked that she didn’t scream. She nodded gently and said, “Thank you for being honest.” Most people don’t come back. She brought us into the office and let him speak. My son said “I’m sorry” in a small voice, and tears flowed down his face. She listened and then told him about the store’s security camera footage, the complaints about lost products, and how easy it would have been to pursue charges.
Then she did something that surprised me. She asked me if I would let him work off the cost of the items. It wasn’t a question of law; it was a question of morality. ” He can help our staff put things back on the shelves for two weeks after school. There won’t be a report if he turns up. “No problem.”
I was astonished, but I was also grateful. I looked at my son, and he nodded immediately quickly.
The first several days were hard. He hated every second of it. His students walked by the store, often laughing and pointing at him. One night he told me, “I feel like everyone knows.” I told him, “Good.” That might be part of the lesson.
But things had changed by the second week. He started getting to the store early. He got home and told me about a man named Rich who used to be a chef but now owns a store. He wanted to know whether we could make grilled cheese like the kind Rich told him about. He stopped complaining. He started to think.
At the end of his last day, the manager pulled me aside. “He has a good heart.” He just got lost. It happens more often than you might think. She handed me a small envelope. There was a gift card and a note that said, “For the kid who owned up.”
When we arrived back, he opened the car door and looked at the card. “She gave me money?” Was that all there was to it? I grinned and remarked, “Doing the right thing can sometimes open doors.”
I believed that was the end of the story. But two weeks later, something else happened.
The school called. Seeing the school number makes me feel sick most of the time. This time, though, it wasn’t bad news. The principal wanted me to know that my son had talked about “choices and consequences” in class. He must have told them what happened and how he tried to rectify it. The class was utterly silent. Some kids cried. The principal said she had never seen middle schoolers that furious before.
Then, something even stranger happened.
That weekend, Ryan, one of his friends, and his parents came to our house. She looked like she was worried. He looked like he was embarrassed. “Ryan has something to tell you,” she said. The kid looked down and said, “I copied your son.” I bought earbuds at the same store. But when he told the story in class, I went back and put a note on the counter with them. I just wanted you to know.
I was stunned and couldn’t take my eyes off of them. I hugged him, which was all I could do. His mom looked like she was going to cry. She thanked me and then my son. “You helped more than you know.”
The ripple effect kept going from that point on.
The teacher invited my son to work with a program that helps other youngsters. Just small things, like keeping other students on track, listening to someone who was having a bad day, and giving advice. He put all of his effort into the job. I observed my son, the same boy who had stolen things to get attention before, start to help other kids who thought they weren’t good enough.
“Mom, I think I want to study social work someday,” he stated one night as we were eating supper. Maybe it can help kids like me.
I almost let go of my fork.
We never utilized that card. Ryan received it and used it to buy a gift for his younger brother’s birthday. “This is better,” he said. And to be honest, I agreed.
Things didn’t suddenly get better. There were still rough months, periods when things were awkward, and growing pains. But my boy was different now. He stopped trying to garner attention by showing off things and started getting it by being himself.
And here’s the real twist.
Months later, Hillside Mall sent me an envelope in the mail. Inside was a note from the regional manager. People seem to have heard about my son’s tale, how he gave back the clothes, did the work, and inspired other youngsters. “Second Chance Saturdays” was a little community effort that was started in our town. The program gave first-time offenders between the ages of 13 and 17 the chance to do community service instead of going to jail.
The boss said thanks. She said that our story helped them see kids as more than just shoplifters; they are teens with stories, challenges, and potential.
I gave my son the letter. He held it for a long time and then asked, “Do you think I could help them?” I nodded but couldn’t say anything.
Yes, he did. For the next six months, he helped other kids do the same thing he did every Saturday. No talking. He just talked honestly, shared his experiences, and showed humility in a way that school couldn’t teach him.
Today is my son’s sixteenth birthday. He still wears sweaters, listens to loud music, and leaves his socks all over the place. But he is always the first to provide support when someone needs it. He helps his classmate deal with anxiety, teaches younger kids, and just got a summer job at a place that aids young people.
He is not flawless. Not everyone is flawless.
But that one bad choice? His choice to deal with it, accept responsibility for it, and select a better route opened the door to growth, connection, and purpose.
Sometimes the hardest things are the ones that make everything different. Honesty regarding a mistake can sometimes bring about change for you and other people as well.
If you’ve ever had problems helping your child learn from a mistake, I hope our story gives you some hope.