Born This Way

Thursday is all about kids and today you get a little insight into what I was like as a small child. From what I know about Catholics, which isn't a lot, I think I should have been born Catholic. Not only for the joy of attending an all girls school and wearing a short skirt, but because I have always needed to confess my guilt. I have felt an enormous amount of it since the day I was born. As a kid, I could never lie to my parents, my friends or my teachers. I would get a sickening feeling in my stomach when I would even consider doing something that wasn't right. The one thing I didn't feel bad about was beating up my brother and endlessly torturing my sister. In God's eyes and mine, they deserved it. Everything else was off the table. It kept me from having too much fun as a young person and as an adult, I still veer towards the "right" thing to do, not necessarily the fun thing to do.
I did steal something once. It was one of the worst moments in my life and I garnered no excitement or desire for a repeat performance. I was at a grocery store with some friends and we were wandering around with no money and way too much time on our hands. I got to the bulk candy section and spied a giant bin full of jawbreakers the size of my head. They were white with colored speckles had the promise of being everlasting. I needed one. I wandered aimlessly back and forth through the aisles, checking for employees and video cameras. My heart was racing and in my mind, I was creating a plan of attack while also wondering if I could get thrown in jail for candy theft. What would my parents think? How would I ever get a job? Could I survive in prison at the tender age of 13? I was wearing a brown leather coat and as I made my final pass, I quickly stuck my arm in the bin, scooped the jawbreaker in my hand and pulled it into my coat sleeve. I felt like I might lose consciousness as I walked past the registers and out the front doors.
It was awful. I couldn't even enjoy my free candy because I felt so fucking horrible about taking something that wasn't mine. In all my melancholy, I rode home wondering if I could keep this one little secret to myself. I couldn't. I walked into our house projectile vomited the details to my mother within a matter of seconds. I had stolen, I was a horrible child and I had ruined my entire future. She patiently drove me back to the store with my pocket full of change and my heart full of fear. I admitted my misdeed to the manager and paid for my treat. That was the first and last time I stole anything. It holds true that I can't even take an extra sugar packet from Starbucks if I don't immediately need it in my coffee.
This guilt complex kept me from trying hard drugs, going to kegs in the canyon and enjoying the times I skipped out on class. I did sluff in high school but it was so miserable that I should have just gone to class and dealt with the torture of my classmates. I admitted to all the small things that most parents wish their kids would tell them. My mom was forced to hear about underage alcohol consumption, make out sessions with gang members, and my smoking addiction that I was sure flew under the radar for years. I remember her saying "Mandy, you don't need to tell me everything."  But I did. My guilt would kill me and I didn't have a priest or a confessional. Unfortunately for her, I was born this way.