Proverb Short Story (neglect/mischief)

Jillian Jandl

“A little neglect may breed great mischief.” – Benjamin Franklin

By age eleven, I, Betsy Campbell, was moving into my fourth foster home. Just like those prior, my last foster parents grew tired of my frequent tantrums and my hyper behavior. It seemed that no family could provide me with the attention that I craved and my attempts at being noticed only got me into trouble and sent to a new home. I was put into my first foster home straight from the hospital at two weeks old when my mother died from complications with my birth; my father has never been mentioned so I do not ask questions and assume that he and my mother must have split up during her pregnancy. My first family seemed promising as a permanent home until they realized that I was not growing out of my tantrums. Every time something did not go as I wanted, which was more often than not, I would throw a fit in an effort to receive attention from my pitiless foster parents. Their lack of care towards me led to more outbursts and finally, when I was five, they requested to have me moved to a new home. As I was moved around through the years, house to house, the reasons continued to be due to my unstable, agitated temper. With each new family, I remained unsatisfied by the level of disregard they had for me and I was never once able to have the feeling of being a part of a family. Whether it was “accidentally” throwing my ball through the window or pushing the other kids around, I found that negative attention was better than none at all, so I continued to do what I knew was wrong.

It wasn’t until my fourth foster home that it became clear that as I was getting older, things were only getting worse. Approaching my teen years, I would hear about my school friends having “the talk” with their moms and about their close relationships with their parents. I really began to feel the void of having real parents in my life. While these feelings developed, it seemed that the attention given to me lessened because I was one of the oldest children in my new foster home. Of what little interest that the parents showed, the majority was set on the younger children who required more time and care. It seemed as though I could disappear and it would go unnoticed. That idea ran through my mind daily, until I finally decided to find out if it was true. I packed up what little belongs I had and bundled up my lean, fifteen-year-old body in warm layers to face the cold February days that awaited me. I had no plan but I knew that I had to get out of my current situation and find a better life.

I wandered the streets for hours, occasionally escaping to the warmth of a coffee shop before having to face the cold day again. The sun started to go down and the dark skies brought even colder air. That’s when reality kicked in that I may have gotten myself into a lot of trouble, but I did not see going back as an option. A constant stream of questions ran through my head; where would I sleep that night, how would I get my next meal, what was I going to do going forward? I was left with no answers and no good solutions.

That night I slept on a bench in the subway station, the first of many nights that I would spend there. Somehow, sleeping among the homeless and hungry still felt like a better option compared to the meaningless life I was stuck in until just the night before. But with this path I chose also came plenty of obstacles and so I was in need of a plan. At the time, what I came up with seemed as though it would be perfect in my circumstances, and for a while, it did prove to be.

Pickpocketing. A skill that, as I know, takes time and practice to master, but once you do, the rewards are well worth the risks. My days started early; at sunrise I’d find my first victims of the day waiting for their early-morning trains to work. A little time in that subway station would assure me enough for breakfast, and sometimes even lunch. I got to know all the prime spots and exactly when to hit them to get the most return without getting caught. I spent every penny as it came in, some days more profitable than others. On a few desperate days, I found myself running out of restaurants with just the breadbasket before the waiter could come back for my order. I had never planned on taking it any further than pickpocketing, but my income was very unstable day to day, and soon I was mastering the entire art of stealing. Shoplifting and pickpocketing combined sustained me and having made it so far, I was feeling invincible.

Whether it was arrogance or greed to blame, it’s hard to say, but one morning at my usual stop I was caught in the act. Someone had recognized me and was on to my daily routine. The man pulled me aside and in a burst of fear I began apologizing profusely. Fortunately for me, the man stopped me mid-speech and informed me that he was a reformed petty thief himself, and that he could relate to my situation. Instead of turning me in as I had initially expected, he bought me a cup of coffee and a bagel, and we sat and talked for almost two hours, discovering the similarities in our lives. It felt like a natural time to end our gathering as it began to get dark outside and the remainder of our drinks grew cold. At this realization, he quickly added something that he had failed to mention during our entire encounter; he ran the nearby youth center and was willing to offer me a part-time job there. I was speechless, for once being able to imagine a future for myself. The man filled the silence by telling me that he would not let me sleep on the streets one more night and that from that night on he would have a home for me; the only stipulation was that I must attend school. As tears of joy poured out of my eyes, I reached over to him and showed all of my thanks with a long embrace.

It’s been almost a year now since that life-altering day, and I often wonder what would have happened if it had been someone less understanding that caught me. My childhood was not a fairy tale, and I may not have grown up like most other kids, but I can say that I am happy with who I have become and where I’ve ended up from what little I had.