One Act of Larceny Lingers for Years

My Oldest Possession is Stolen Property

One of my oldest possessions is a teddy bear I acquired from a cousin when I was a child. To be honest, I stole it from him. I’m not sure why this act of larceny still lingers in my mind.

I was never much of a rule-breaker, although my siblings could likely supply a list of my childhood misdeeds. But for the first time I consciously coveted someone else’s property and orchestrated events so that I ended up with the item.

I was about seven years old, and loved stuffed animals. My cousin Andy was three, and had come to visit for the afternoon. The bear came along in a bag of toys his mom brought. With two little sisters of my own, entertaining toddlers was my forte. So I unpacked the toys and settled everyone to play. Being the big kid was fun – I decided what we played with, appointed everybody a role for pretending, and set the rules (or changed them) for each game. But when I saw that bear, I forgot all about being the big kid in charge.

There wasn’t anything special about him, just a small, fuzzy brown bear with solid button eyes and a black felt nose. He didn’t come with accessories or clothing; and he couldn’t sit or hold a pose without being propped up. But I didn’t have anything like him, and I wanted him.

The Plot to Liberate

It helped that my cousin didn’t seem too attached to the bear. If Andy had clung, or made a fuss about sharing, I would never have considered liberating the bear from his clutches. I respected the rules of ownership, but in this case, that bear was obviously not a prized possession. In fact, it was practically my duty to provide a better, more loving environment.

So, I brought all 47 of my stuffed animals down from my bedroom and scattered them around the toddlers. We made a game of tossing them back and forth, but at the end of each round, Andy’s bear ended up on my side of the line. By the time the moms finished their visit and called for us to clean up, Andy’s bear had been left behind in the pile of plush.

I never got in trouble for keeping the bear. Mom may have suspected my subterfuge, but she didn’t call me out on it. She said we’d return him the next time we visited, but we never seemed to remember. Meanwhile, my Andy Bear enjoyed a life of luxury, dressed in my baby sister’s infant undershirts, swaddled in receiving blankets, and tucked into my bike basket or my bed.

Looking Back on Larceny

I’m a bit embarrassed to share the story of Andy Bear with you, since he is proof of my moral shortcomings. For the record, years later I did tell Andy’s mom that I still had the bear “he left at my house when he was little.” (Even then I couldn’t be completely honest.) She thought it was sweet and nostalgic that I had hung onto him for so long.

Andy Bear is a decrepit old thing now, more grey than brown, his fur worn bare in places. He kept me company through many late nights of studying in high school. He brought a touch of home to my dorm room at college. He was part of my trousseau, and my own babies played with him. Now his stuffing is lopsided, his seams repaired too many times. But he still sits on my dresser where I see him every day.

Funny how a little bit of larceny holds such great memories of love.