A Stolen Moment in Evanston

Last week, my nine-year-old son and his three friends played catch after school in the vacant lot behind our house, passing the time until their ride to hip hop class arrived.

When my friend pulled up and the boys began piling into the car, I came outside to lend a hand, but my son stood behind, searching the open field for something.

“Come on, Buddy,” I said. “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

He kept walking back and forth across the lot, searching…

“What are you looking for?” I asked, coaxing him toward the car.

“I…I left my iPod Touch right here,” he said, pointing to the frozen grass.

“You left it on the ground?” I asked, annoyed, because believe me -- we've had all the talks about not leaving things out in the open, about keeping electronics in the house and about being responsible. “Seriously?”

He pointed to the ground along the sidewalk, eyes darting and blinking back tears. “I put it here so it wouldn’t fall out of my pocket. It was just for a second.”

I urged the other boys to leave for their class, then helped my son search the field over and over.

The device was gone and I struggled to feel empathy. “Now do you see why we tell you to not to bring devices outside?” I asked.

He walked in slow circles around the spot where he’d last seen it, then looked up at me without a word. His face said it all:

Why would someone take something like that?

I shouldn’t have left it there -- but it belonged to me.

I didn’t do anything to make someone take my things…I was just playing ball.

My pictures and games and memos don’t mean anything to anyone else. Why would they take it?

After twenty minutes of searching – including a walk up and down the street peering into garbage cans, we gave up our search. I put my arm around him as we turned the corner to our house. “I’m sorry that happened,” I said, trying to put words to his feelings. “No one should ever take stuff without asking.”

This was the first thing he’d ever had stolen. I truly hope it’s the last.

My older son’s brand new, unlocked bike was taken from our front porch several years ago – we’d just stepped inside to get a lock and…gone. Another time, he’d been playing basketball at a nearby park and left his mobile device on the park bench…gone.

Last year my friend’s purse was taken from her kitchen table in the early morning hours while she and her family slept. Unfortunately, the back door had been unlocked.

And thirteen years ago, my camera was stolen from my unlocked car parked in front of my house. Since then, I rarely forget to lock it. Losing baby photos of my children left a mark that never fades.

Go ahead and argue that we’d all just been asking for it…that we’d made it easy for others to steal our stuff. I’ve actually made the same argument myself. But let’s be honest: we didn’t ask anyone to help themselves to our things. Their behavior wasn’t justified. No matter how much smarter we could have been, we’re still victims. Dumb, yes -- but victims nonetheless.

Though hard to admit, there’s a part of me that’s glad the iPod Touch was taken: The event opened my son’s eyes in ways my parental guidance never will. Judging by the way he’s been telling friends and family members about the incident, it’s clear he’ll think twice before leaving something lying out in the open again. That sense of responsibility is something I strive to see in my kids.

As the reality of the theft first hit home, I wondered:

Were we being targeted?

Why does someone think they can just take my property?

Is theft worse in my area than others’?

I’m sure some readers think,  “Well, you live on the south side of town…what did you expect?” or “This kind of thing happens all the time in Evanston,” or “Seriously, you should read the police blotter more often!”

Since I try to find a silver lining in every bad situation, I'd like to think this incident will only make us stronger. I often refer to my husband's assessment that his college friends from Evanston were the ones who understood the way the world worked better than anyone.

Evanston's as real as it gets. It's gritty. It's gorgeous. It's complicated. It's divided. It's opinionated. It's a place of strong roots and hope for the future. And for so many of us, it's home. Just make sure you lock your doors at night.