I stopped when I saw the shattered glass lying on the ground. Dark, gray pieces of glasses that, in the shadow of the darkness, glittered like the intricate jewelry I had tried on, admired and left in the shops we had wandered through. 

It seemed my father didn’t, or couldn’t, believe it had happened until he had walked enough steps forward to make out the gaping hole where the car window should have been, as if to make sure that the image was not a simple trick of light playing off his antiquated glasses. 

When it finally hit him, it really hit him. He doubled over, his head trapped in his hands and cried out, “My computer!” 

And then it finally hit me. I had assumed that the shattered window was the extent of the damage, part of some ill-conceived venture for absent value or cruel amusement. I hadn’t realized that, where the backseat now lay bare, there had once resided my father’s worn backpack. It had contained not only the computer, but also his passport, papers to be read and notes on his work. 

All that was gone now. 

Larceny, and theft in general, is no new crime. According to a 2005 report by the FBI, laptop theft amounted to about $3.5 million in 2005. Regardless, you can never imagine it happening to you. I’ve always preferred to think that the places I’m in are safe and that the people I know are kind.

That was especially the case in Santana Row, San Jose, where my father and I had been shopping. It’s an upscale part of California, full of high-end retailers and places for fine dining. It’s also not a place where I ever expected anyone to break into my father’s car and steal his belongings and peace of mind.

As I stood there, in the backdrop of my father’s anguish, I thought about a recent conversation I had with a friend. Amused by my ill-phrased dislike of people, he had inquired about my decision to pursue a people-oriented profession.

“It’s not that I don’t like people,” I had remarked. “It’s that they frustrate me.” 

I was, I realized, frustrated with human nature. It seemed to me that the distinction between being “good” and “bad” was merely a choice, and I didn’t understand why we too often made the more morally detrimental choice. 

That said, to be honest, I am of no greater moral composure myself. I’ve probably made the “bad” choice as often as I’ve made the “good” one. But I’ve also seen how much of a force of good people can be, should they only choose to.

The person who had stolen my father’s bag, shattered his window and momentarily shattered his life had made a clear choice to be a destructive force. It was a choice that I didn’t understand and don’t think I ever will. After all, that bag was the accumulation of a life that my father had built. What more could it ever be to anyone else than a few worn belongings?

I have a habit of leaving belongings unattended. It was, to close friends, evidence of my naive approach to life, my Sunnyvale-bred disconcern and my incredible luck. 

But, frankly, I’m saddened that my carefree demeanor needs to be questioned. According to 2009 Pennsylvania State Police figures, larceny — or simply theft — was the most common crime committed on campus. College campuses, supposedly havens of safety and sanctuaries for learning, were still no exception.

I once studied on the second floor of the Carnegie Library. After a while, I had decided to head down to the ground floor. I had meant only to grab a quick snack, get something to drink and promptly head back to where my stuff had been spread over a table. But I had received a call from my mother, and my quick snack had become a lengthy conversation. 

When I finally did make my way up the two flights of stairs, down the hall and to the secluded table in the corner, I was brought to a sudden halt. My belongings were gone. In their place was a note. 

The security guards stared down at me as I had approached them with the note. In front of them was my backpack, filled haphazardly with my belongings. 

“You can’t just leave things laying around,” they chided. 

They’re right ­— if someone had stolen my belongings, just like someone stole my father’s, it’s unlikely that it would have been returned. At Shippensburg University, police cleared only nine of 41 reported larceny cases in 2009, according to PennLive. 

In 2011, 88 laptops were reported stolen at UC Berkeley, according to Berkeley Security. Most of them were stolen at an opportune time by outside sources, not students. 

When I think about what they said that day, I grow resentful. As immature as it may sound, I wanted to be able to leave things lying around. I didn’t want to live in a world where, if I wasn’t looking out for my belongings, someone was looking to take them. 

I don’t want to live in a world where I have to watch my father, a man whom I consider intelligent, call himself stupid. He had meant to put the bag in the trunk — why had he forgotten? He had meant to back up his computer that night — why hadn’t he done it earlier? Why hadn’t we gotten to the car sooner? 

Why had someone decided to be a destructive force that night? 

Bethel primarily writes about social issues and current events for The Pitt News.

Write Bethel at [email protected].