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Jean
Brandt wrote this essay as a first-year college student. In it she
tells about a memorable event that occurred when she was thirteen.
Reflecting on how she felt at the time, Brandt writes, "I was afraid,
embarrassed, worried, mad. " As you read, look for places where these
tumultuous and contradictory remembered feelings are expressed.
Calling Home
Jean Brandt
As we all piled into the car, I knew it was going to be a fabulous day.
My grandmother was visiting for the holidays; and she and I, along with
my older brother and sister, Louis and Susan, were setting off for a
day of last-minute Christmas shopping. On the way to the mall, we sang
Christmas carols, chattered, and laughed. With Christmas only two days
away, we were caught up with holiday spirit. I felt light-headed and
full of joy. I loved shopping-especially at Christmas.
The shopping center was swarming with frantic last-minute shoppers like
ourselves. We went first to the General Store, my favorite. It carried
mostly knickknacks and other useless items which nobody needs but buys
anyway. I was thirteen years old at the time, and things like buttons
and calendars and posters would catch my fancy. This day was no
different. The object of my desire was a 75-cent Snoopy button. Snoopy
was the latest. If you owned anything with the Peanuts on it, you were
"in." But since I was supposed to be shopping for gifts for other
people and not myself, I couldn't decide what to do. I went in search
of my sister for her opinion. I pushed my way through throngs of people
to the back of the store where I found Susan. I asked her if she
thought I should buy the button. She said it was cute and if I wanted
it to go ahead and buy it.
When I got back to the Snoopy section, I took one look at the lines at
the cashiers and knew I didn't want to wait thirty minutes to buy an
item worth less than one dollar. I walked back to the basket where I
found the button and was about to drop it when suddenly, instead, I
took a quick glance around, assured myself no one could see, and
slipped the button into the pocket of my sweatshirt. I hesitated for a
moment, but once the item was in my pocket, there was no turning back.
I had never before stolen anything; but what was done was done. A few
seconds later, my sister appeared and asked, "So, did you decide to buy
the button?"
"No, I guess not." I hoped my voice didn't quaver, As we headed for the
entrance, my heart began to race. I just had to get out of that store.
Only a few more yards to go and I'd be safe. As we crossed the
threshold, I heaved a sigh of relief. I was home free. I thought about
how sly I had been and I felt proud of my accomplishment.
An unexpected tap on my shoulder startled me. I whirled around to find
a middle-aged man, dressed in street clothes, flashing some type of
badge and politely asking me to empty my pockets. Where did this man
come from? How did he know? I was so sure that no one had seen me! On
the verge of panicking, I told myself that all I had to do was give
this man his button back, say I was sorry, and go on my way. After all,
it was only a 75-cent item.
Next thing I knew, he was talking about calling the police and having
me arrested and thrown in jail, as if he had just nabbed a professional
thief instead of a terrified kid. I couldn't believe what he was saying.
"Jean, what's going on?"
The sound of my sister's voice eased the pressure a bit. She always
managed to get me out of trouble. She would come through this time too.
"Excuse me. Are you a relative of this young girl?" "Yes, I'm her sister. What's the problem?"
"Well, I just caught her shoplifting and I'm afraid I'll have to call the police." "What did she take?"
"This button."
"A button? You are having a thirteen-year-old arrested for stealing a button?" "I'm sorry, but she broke the law."
The man led us through the store and into an office, where we waited
for the police officers to arrive. Susan had found my grandmother and
brother, who, still shocked, didn't say a word. The thought of going to
jail terrified me, not because of jail itself, but because of the
encounter with my parents afterward. Not more than ten minutes later,
two officers arrived and placed me under arrest. They said that I was
to be taken to the station alone. Then, they handcuffed me and led me
out of the store. I felt alone and scared. I had counted on my sister
being with me, but now I had to muster up the courage to face this
ordeal all by myself.
As the officers led me through the mall, I sensed a hundred pairs of
eyes staring at me. My face flushed and I broke out in a sweat. Now
everyone knew I was a criminal. In their eyes I was a juvenile
delinquent, and thank God the cops were getting me off the streets. The
worst part was thinking my grandmother might be having the same
thoughts. The humiliation at that moment was overwhelming. I felt like
Hester Prynne being put on public display for everyone to ridicule.
That short walk through the mall seemed to take hours. But once we
reached squad car, time raced by. I was read my rights and questioned.
We were at the polite station within minutes. Everything happened so
fast I didn't have a chance to feel remorse for my crime. Instead, I
viewed what was happening to me as if it were a movie. Being searched,
although embarrassing, somehow seemed to be exciting. All the movies
and television programs I had seen were actually coming to life. This
is what it was really like. But why were criminals always portrayed as
frightened and regretful? I was having fun. I thought I had nothing to
fear-until I was allowed my one phone call. I was trembling as I dialed
home. I didn't know what I was going to say to my parents, especially
my mother.
"Hi, Dad, this is Jean."
"We've been waiting for you to call.” "Did Susie tell you what happened?"
'Yeah, but we haven't told your mother. I think you should tell her
what you did and where you are." "You mean she doesn't even know where
I am?"
"No, I want you to explain it to her."
There was a pause as he called my mother to the phone. For the first
time that night, I was close to tears. I wished I had never stolen that
stupid pin. I wanted to give the phone to one of the officers because I
was too ashamed to tell my mother the truth, but I had no choice.
"Jean, where are you?" "I'm, umm, in jail." "Why? What for?" "Shoplifting."
"Oh no, Jean. Why? Why did you do it?" "I don't know. No reason. I just did it."
"I don't understand. What did you take? Why did you do it? You had
plenty of money with you." "I know but I just did it. I can't explain
why. Mom, I'm sorry."
"I'm afraid sorry isn't enough. I'm horribly disappointed in you."
Long after we got off the phone, while I sat in an empty jail cell,
waiting for my parents to pick me up, I could still distinctly hear the
disappointment and hurt in my mother's voice. I cried. The tears
weren't for me but for her and the pain I had put her through. I felt
like a terrible human being. I would rather have stayed in jail than
confront my mom right then. I dreaded each passing minute that brought
our encounter closer. When the officer came to release me, I hesitated,
actually not wanting to leave. We went to the front desk, where I had
to sign a form to retrieve my belongings. I saw my parents a few yards
away and my heart raced. A large knot formed in my stomach. I fought
back the tears.
Not a word was spoken as we walked to the car. Slowly, I sank into the
back seat anticipating the scolding. Expecting harsh tones, I was
relieved to hear almost the opposite from my father.
“I’m not going to punish you and I’ll tell you why. Although I think
what you did was wrong, I think what the police did was more wrong.
There’s no excuse for locking a thirteen-year-old behind bars. That
doesn’t mean I condone what you did, but I think you’ve been punished
enough already.”
As I looked from my father’s eyes to my mother’s, I knew this ordeal
was over. Although it would never be forgotten, the incident was not
mentioned again.
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