I have been in a very similar situation as you found yourself in with your daughter, when I was 8 (I just realised how very eventful a year that one was for me!). I was the perpetrator, of course.
I don’t remember exactly the lead-up to the idea of stealing, I just remember my childhood friend Cristina, her brother Luigino and I sitting on their balcony and plotting to steal a bottle of perfume for our Barbie dolls, the next time we would go to Standa (a famous Italian supermarket, equivalent to K-Mart or Target, but they also have a food department).
In my defence, I can only say that the idea never came from me, that I remember clearly: it was Cristina that suggested it. I was never taught by my parents that stealing was right, quite the opposite, whereas I am pretty sure that Cristina and Luigino must have learned that from their mother (my mother told me years later that Marisa, Cristina’s mother, actually had a habit of doing just that).
Anyway, the day came when we all went to Standa with Marisa. We children went around the aisles until we found the perfume department with all those pretty little bottles.
I wish I could say that I was shitting my pants the whole time, but truth is I don’t remember how I felt, then. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I don’t remember if I felt excited, scared, or ashamed. I don’t think I felt smug about it, though.
I picked up one of the bottles and held it tight to my chest, stealing glances at it every now and then (quite the cunning, nonchalant, dissimulating thief I was! Right.). Cristina and Luigino had got their bottles, too, but I think they must have put them back down, because when we got to the counter, I was the only one who was caught red-handed, when the lady asked if Marisa was also paying for what I was holding to my chest.
I wonder to this day that I did not have a heart attack, right there and then. But it was certainly then that I did start to feel it, the sudden, overwhelming shame.
I don’t remember much after that, I don’t remember if the perfume bottle was taken from me or if I gave it back of my own free will. I don’t remember the way home, except for Marisa repeating all along how I should be ashamed of myself (of course Marisa never got to know that her own daughter was the mastermind behind all this, and that she and Luigino were as guilty as I was at least, because I never said a word about them). There was no need for that, because I do remember how indeed ashamed I was and the fear of what my parents would say… or do. I thought that since I had not died on the spot, my parents would make sure to put a remedy to that.
So, when we got home, Marisa told everything to my mum. And there were other people present.
What hurt me the most was that, irony of all ironies, and shame of all shames, Cristina’s mother got to be the self-righteous, outraged parent, while my mother, who has always been a pillar of integrity, got to be the ashamed one, the one who had failed at teaching me values, exposed in front of other people, too.
My mother told my father and I waited for the sword to fall on my head, but they never laid a hand on me to punish me for what I did. They just stressed how disappointed they were in me and that I had hurt them very much.
That was enough for me. I never did it again, did not even ever think in my wildest dreams of doing it again. And to this day I haven’t. It turns out that my parents did indeed do a good job with me (even if I say so myself!), as I do like what I have become: an honest person, for whom integrity and ethics are the most important things. Certainly, that episode was a good lesson to be learned.
So, I think you have done a great job with your daughter, in that occasion: make her face the consequences of her actions was the best thing you could ever do. I am sure she will learn the lesson, as I did, and she will grow up to be an honest, trustworthy young lady. Chin up.
And here’s some more Rob for you. He will make it all better ;)!
