Our little gal sittin' pretty in said stroller.
Yesterday, our family toured the rolling landscape of Busch Gardens Williamsburg’s Christmastown for the first time. It was also the first time our kids ever encountered strangers taking stealing from them. (For the scoop on our trip, read the review here.)
Let me back up a bit. Our kiddos–ages nine, six, and three–love theme parks as much as any other kid, but the little ones especially get worn out from walking around for six + hours, so we typically rent a stroller they can hop into when their little legs wear out.
After riding Alpengeist and the Battering Ram and playing a few games–one notable in that our six-year-old actually won an electronic game of more value than these games typically yield–we stopped into one of the shops, leaving our toy and a few other small items in our rental stroller. When we walked out of the store ten minutes later, our stroller was gone.
Now, I realize that stealing a rental stroller isn’t going to get anyone a police record, it’s not a major offense, and my immediate thought that actually another family had taken our stroller by mistake, and would come back any moment. Our six-year old looked dejected, after all he had just gloated to his siblings that we won “a super cool voice changer” and couldn’t wait to goof around with it. After scouring the area for several minutes, we quickly realized that wasn’t the case. We wandered back from the area we had just been in to head onto another ride and that’s when I saw it.
Our stroller, with “Hall Family” still clearly written on it in our handwriting, was underneath a pile of coats and had a teenager sitting on it, her family, including several children, standing nearby. I whispered to my husband that it may be ours, still thinking their last name could obviously be the same as ours. He walked over and asked them if the stroller was theirs. The blank stare they returned told the story.
“Where’s the toy that was in here?” he asked. “We never saw any toy,” they all answered, smirking. Then I walked over and asked the same. “Please, our son was so excited that he just won that toy, can you just please give it back?” I asked, protective super-mama-bear blood rushing in my veins. I was thankful there were so many small children in their group or I would’ve spit verbal venom at that moment, wanting them to feel the embarrassment they clearly should’ve.
“Never saw it,” they all said, looking to each other for confirmation, sticking to their story.
Luckily, the little guy won this stuffed Santa later on in the evening.
What resulted next was the really tough interaction with my kids, though. “Mama, why would they just take our stuff? Why would they do that?” and the worst, “I HATE THEM!” the six-year-old huffed.
“Don’t hate them,” I pleaded, rubbing his little head, “feel sorry for them. People who steal don’t understand kindness and how their stealing makes other people hurt and upset, even if it’s stealing something small it could mean a lot to someone. We need to hope they see that this kind of thing isn’t right.”
I could tell he was thinking about it, his little wheels turning and churning through frustration, anger, and the loss of a shiny-new toy that only a little kid really gets.
Taking the one lesson we earn from this experience, I mustered up my best I’m-gonna-be-the-bigger-person-even-though-those-jerks-took-my-kid’s-toy smile and looked at him, hoping for a response.
After some thought, my stubborn little guy agreed, “Yeah, I guess so. They must be really sad and mean. I hope they turn nicer.”
I thought about the lesson we were given and was thankful for the meaningful chance to connect with the kids, even if it wasn’t for a good reason. “Yeah, me too, buddy.”
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