I Witnessed a Childhood Friend Succumb to the Pressure of Judgment and Poverty

The first of my friends who learned to steal was the son of a preacher. His mother was the young bride of an older man who came to him with two children already in hand.I saw the tension in their household from the perspective of an unwelcome guest. I came for sleepovers and spent most of my time avoiding Father Burt's loathsome glower. The old man wandered through the walls like a malicious ghost haunting the life of a struggling mother.Curtis had to live with that. He had to emerge from an oppressive shadow every morning and return every night to a state of expected submission. He learned to become part shadow himself. That skill became a requirement of anyone who sought to be his friend.Curtis instructed me on how to ignore Burt, which is what he called him. He never called him “dad.” It was just Burt, usually barked with undisguised contempt.“Okay, Burt.”“You do that, Burt.”“Whatever you say, Burt.”We settled in to a gentleman's agreement of mutual disregard. This happens often when you're young and you're told you're a burden and nothing you achieve is ever celebrated. Your faults are all that is perceived.Burt's eyes seethed.I suppose it was inevitable that Curtis would become a thief. When he and my other friends began reading fantasy books, he found his purpose.“I need some lock picks,” he said. The compulsion possessed him. I was in the sphere of influence. Burt's oppressive shadow couldn't help but fall upon us all.Curtis was squirrelly. He couldn't sit still. When I first met him, I had to teach him how to watch a film. He was bouncing off the walls, overcome with boredom, it made him destructive.Eventually, I got him to calm down.I taught Curtis something that should have been learned from a parent. I showed him a new form of escape that didn't require running away.In class, Curtis was a terror too. He wasn't a good student. He barely turned in his work. I think every teacher made him recall the scowl of foul “Father” Burt.But Curtis was clever, and he set about forging his own mythology so he could claw back some shred of personal dignity. Rightfully so I think. People shouldn't be expected to walk around with their heads bowed perpetually cowed by the weight of an expectation that's impossible to meet.Scruffy old Father Burt who always claimed nobody else worked, earned his own keep through contributions. His flock never gave enough. Maybe, like Curtis, they resented having their flaws be the perpetual focus.“If you don't give, I'll become angrier still.”So they went away. Meanwhile Curtis grew like a vine, untended. He delighted in cutting off the edges of the rules. You sometimes meet people who see things that would have never occurred to you. Instead of lock picks, he took to carrying a utility tool.Out on an exploration, he noticed an old shed surrounded by vegetation.“Come on,” he said. “Let's get in. Let's see what’s hidden.”I walked beside him as he approached the window and examined the weak spots with the same intensity a scholar might use to regard a math problem. I wondered how he could have so much focus then, but not in the moments when it might have been of benefit to him.“I can get through this door,” he said. Then he picked a spot on the wood and began to bore.“Stop,” I wanted to say. The words formed in my mind. “Stop, stop, what are you doing? Why?”But I knew the look on his face. Curtis wouldn't be denied.I watched Curtis uncertain, but he had no doubt at all.Some would call Curtis a bad seed. But I don't believe there is any such thing. We have people who have privileges and those that are left wanting. Our actions are a response to our surroundings. They do not reflect any essential, enduring consequence. We all have value. We all resonate with an essential purity that's longing to emerge.It's just that sometimes, we have to pick the lock that restrains us.Curtis had learned not to be seen. I realized that, despite his poverty, there were always things Curtis managed to gain. He didn't have access to money or work. He was bound by the failure of his stepdad’s unpopular church. He lived in a home that was miserable and musty and judgmental.He must have concluded that if he had to endure the punishment anyway, he might as well steal.He got his hands on a utility tool and used it for breaking and entering.“Come on in.”“I think I'll stay here.”He entered.I didn't stop him, but I didn't follow.He poked about for a moment in darkness. The thing that emerged first was the light of his smile. “There was nothing,” he said, patting his pockets. “Nothing at all.” I hadn't made a direct observation of a theft, so I contented myself with denial.Eventually, we went our separate ways.Some might wonder why I would choose to spend time with somebody like him. But the truth is that during those years there weren't a lot of options. He was my friend. At school, and surrounded by enemies, he'd speak for me.If it had come to blows, I don't know if he would have jumped in. But having him at my side meant I was less frequently threatened. His presence was a barrier, and we were protected because we went together.For most of my life I've been surrounded by people I didn't completely trust.I don't regret the days I spent with Curtis. We shared moments of confidence. He was kind to me.Ultimately, I believe all that Curtis wanted was my company. He conspired to have me join him, not out of malice but out of insecurity.I don't know what happened to Curtis, but I hope he eventually realized that his rebellion was a form of compliance. You can't self-destruct as a way of showing defiance.You can only gain from giving. Despite what he took, Curtis ended up giving more to me. I sincerely hope he's come into the possession of everything he needs.Thank you for listening! This publication is reader sponsored. Your support means the world to me. Thank you for being here, and I look forward to sharing more thoughts with you tomorrow!Upgrade at 30% offUpgrade at 40% offUpgrade at 50% offUpgrade at 60% offTwenty dollars a yearMy CoSchedule referral linkHere’s my referral link to my preferred headline analyzer tool. If you sign up through this, it’s another way to support this newsletter (thank you).I'd Rather Be Writing is a reader-supported publication. 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