Since the start of my childhood, Nov. 1 meant the
hanging of a quilt from the stove in my kitchen.
It was my mom’s “Thankful Quilt,” decorated
with felt leaves, turkeys and other Thanks-
giving-esque patches. More importantly, the
quilt was lined with little pockets numbered one
through 30 — a pocket for each day of the month.
And every night, before eating dinner, my mom
would have my sister and I write down what
we were thankful for that day on tiny paper
cards that tucked perfectly into the little felt slots.
We did it each day until all 30 were filled and then
tucked the quilt away for hibernation until the fol-
lowing November.
Our Thankful Quilt became such a routine part of
our Novembers that the process came without much
thought. Sometimes I’d put genuine effort into my
day’s thankful card. Others, I’d scribble something
down on the paper to expedite the commencement
of the meal. If nothing else, the Thankful Quilt was
familiar — it was tradition.
Last year was my first November away from home,
yet I never thought about the quilt. I simply didn’t
have the mental capacity to reminisce. At that time,
I was preoccupied with the announcement that the
freshman dorms were closing due to the uncontrol-
lable COVID-19 spread. I was running around Ann
Arbor trying to find housing for my second semester
at the University of Michigan. I was worried about
the friends I had made thus far, or lack thereof,
and how my social life would play out with com-
mon areas unavailable to us. I was anticipating the
nearly two-month break that was approaching,
where the progress I had made in pioneering my
pandemic-era first semester of college would be
halted, maybe even reversed. I was operating in
fight-or-flight, running on autopilot as a defense
mechanism; thus, the Thankful Quilt didn’t
grace my thoughts.
This year, with life more settled, the treasured
novelty made its return into my concerns. On
Nov. 1, I thought about the bare stove at home,
which, on this day, was usually made merrier. I
filled out a mental card and tucked it into a men-
tal Nov. 1 pocket: “I’m thankful that I’m calm
enough this year to think about our quilt.”
The minute of gratitude felt like progress,
for sure. I am infinitely grateful that now, come
November, it doesn’t necessarily feel like
the world is crumbling in on me. That
I have certainty of my near future
and a sense
of purpose here at
this
school. Now I
realize how much
our circumstances can
impact
what
we’re
grateful
for,
what
matters to us, what’s
relevant, and what
we feel lucky to have
as ours. All of this can
change in just one revolution
around the sun, one November to
the next.
While I’m no lon-
ger in a
state of
fight-or-flight, my life
is still extremely hectic — just
in a “normal life” sort of way.
So
are
most students’ day-to-days
here at the
University. We’re running to classes, extracurricu-
lars, social events and meetings. We’re navigating
flu season, midterms and course scheduling. No
one sits us down before dinner to make us pause
and think. No one straps us to a chair and
forces us to come up with something we’re
thankful for before we’re able to receive
our mobile order from Chipotle on State
Street.
But I feel like we’re the ones who need a Thank-
ful Quilt the most, even more so than our 8-year-
old selves. Currently, at the University, we’re
experiencing some of the most unique, rewarding,
exciting years of our lives. But often, we’re
too caught up in the everyday bustle
to take note of what’s happen-
ing around us. As we run from
classes to meetings, submit
one assignment to Canvas and
begin the next, we lose sight of
the forest for the trees. That we
need to stop and smell the roses
may be cliché, but it’s cliché for
good reason.
I have lots of anxiety, and I
admittedly do complain a lot on a
daily basis. But thinking about
even how much I’ve grown
and learned since August,
or how much I have to
be grateful for this
year that would
have been miss-
ing
from
my
paper
cards
last
year, things are look-
ing,
overall, pretty positive.
I
should
be taking inventory more
often to notice
such a fact. I should be fill-
ing out a thankful card each and every night.
Moreover, we should notice and applaud what’s
happening in our lives right now, before all of a sud-
den we’re putting on shorts again. Better yet, before
we’re putting on a cap and gown, or even more daunt-
ing, professional clothes for our adult-life jobs.
Even though I let a handful of days slip through
the cracks, about three days ago I decided I would
re-implement the Thankful Quilt into my daily
practice. Before allowing myself to indulge in my
dinner, whatever and wherever it is, I’ve been
pausing to write a mental card and place it in a
mental pocket. On Nov. 8, I was thankful that
I’m living in a sorority house with friends I’ll have for
the rest of my life. On Nov. 9, I was thankful that I
have such a well-rounded slew of classes and extra-
curriculars that are rewarding to me. I was grate-
ful
for Parents Weekend on Nov.
10 and Thursday nights
out on Nov. 11. Come
Nov. 12, I was
grateful that we can now go to basketball games at
the Crisler Center.
I called my mom alerting her of my practice, and
she revealed that she’d saved the
cards my sister and I had written
growing up. Dug out from the
bottom
of a drawer, they read: “I’m thankful
for Eggos pancakes;” “I’m thank-
ful that we have medicine;” “I’m
thankful that I have time to
practice my dance routine
for Sunday;” “I’m thankful
for sweatpants;” and “I’m
thankful that we get to visit
Michigan this weekend.”
Ironically, not much has changed. While I’m
newly thankful to be secure in how to navigate a col-
lege campus, for Thursday nights out and for weeks
without too much work, I’m still thankful for Eggo
pancakes, and I’m always happy about a day spent in
sweats. Coincidentally enough, I have a hip-hop team
performance on Saturday and am still thankful that
I’ve had enough time to practice for it. And obviously,
I am thankful that I now go to Michigan and am here
every weekend.
We should always be grateful for those nuts and
bolts that withstand changing circumstances; like
family, good health, and of course, sweatpants. But
changing or static, whether we’re 10 or 20, it’s the
stepping back, seeing the big picture and acknowl-
edging our blessings that matters. Because life moves
quickly — as quickly as the slots on the Thankful
Quilt fill up, and as quickly as I grew up and am no
longer home to partake in the activity.
Luckily, I’ll be home soon for Thanksgiving
break to fill out pre-dinner thankful cards. But
until then, and maybe even after, I think I’ll con-
tinue filling out my mental ones. Tonight, I am
thankful for tradition, for the quilt itself. Of all my
years slipping cards into those felt pockets, I never
gave thanks to their reliable, yearly presence over
my stove. I think my thanks is long overdue. Our
little family ritual taught me to value the moment
and
what I have in it. And while I can’t carry
the Thankful Quilt with me, I can cer-
tainly carry its teachings.
LILLY DICKMAN
Statement Correspondent
Wednesday, December 1, 2021 — 9
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
S T A T E M E N T
Thankful for feeling Thankful
It’s mid-January, so it’s cold outside. In front of the
sliding glass doors of the superstore, one can see the
glimmer of snowflakes falling in the navy of night
and the resulting slush on the pavement. Inside the
doors, however, it’s warm. Fluorescent lights flood
the surfaces and the metal shelves, filled to the brim
with products across all genres. The rows have a cer-
tain metallic shine. Workers pace diligently through-
out the store, but a particular corner goes unnoticed.
Hidden behind the vacant check-out counters is
a group of teenagers unable to be seen due to height
and in sufficient quantity to make a calculated circle.
In the middle of this circle is a pair of hands, prying
open the paperboard that contains a plush fried egg
collectible. The collection of heads maintain the noise
level with conversation and ensure security by fre-
quently glancing outside of the huddle. The fried egg
is freed from the confines of plastic and paper and is
slipped silently into a jean pocket. Smiles of success
are exchanged, and the group splits up into different
checkouts to pay for the legally obtained items. The
group ventures back into the winter’s night. It was
only a few minutes after initiation, and the theft was
complete.
What they did was illegal under all interpretations
of the law and could land any of them with a scratch
on their permanent record. But, was not paying for a
small toy wrong?
Stories of small thefts, trespassing, and other petty
crimes are often taboo subjects, especially among
classmates or acquaintances whose potential reac-
tions are hard to anticipate. Once one anecdote is
shared, however, the door often opens for many more
— what was once underground flows out to the sur-
face. Conversations of recent robberies serve as a sort
of group therapy among youth and young adults, vali-
dating an experience many keep within them due to
fear of the law. Where the law and the general public
draw the line is not necessarily the same, however.
Hobby Lobby has been called “the best place to steal
from,” with social media users citing its lack of bar-
codes and cameras. Others’ justification stems from
the chain’s conservative anti-worker and anti-LGBT+
policies. Similarly, people steal from national chain
stores like Walmart and Kroger with the mindset of
fighting back against billion-dollar corporate-con-
glomerates.
The reasoning above is easy to say out loud, but
are these actions doing any good in the real world?
Target stores were looted in Minneapolis during
summer 2020’s Black Lives Matter protests, some
arguing that the losses would not even affect the
superstore’s bottom line. But as The Atlantic points
out, looters are usually different people than peace-
ful protestors, and what is equated with altruism may
just be a vehicle for young adrenaline.
***
When one types in “Target,” “Meijer,” or any other
retail giant into Google Maps while looking at south-
east Michigan, many red pins appear just a few miles
apart, affixed to the suburban grid-like knots on a
quilt. The streets are threaded together by the conti-
nuity of corporate brands that might invoke a seasick
sense of deja vu if one drives down them for too long.
This repetition has no meaningful rhythm; the logos
on metal poles that are meant to excite and attract
blend together into a neon malaise.
It is easy to feel a sort of contempt and powerless-
ness when faced with the monolithic stucco walls
and fields of pavement that characterize the land-
scape, even while equipped with the American ide-
als of freedom, and if you’re lucky, leisure time. After
work and school are done for the day, what is there to
do? And when the pressure to buy into the capitalist
ecosystem becomes too much, what else is there to do
but take back? Stealing as a way to feel something, as
some may put it, is an increasingly acceptable source
of entertainment. What other activity puts our brain
and survival instincts to the test in a world where
most things are a part of a dull exchange? Under the
falling snow of a January night, what else besides
theft with friends gets the blood pumping so quickly
and with great reward? The capitalist fabric of Amer-
ica has stolen so much from people, whether it be
space, time, or variety — doesn’t it only make sense to
take some of that back?
This power dynamic is what seems to propel the
thrill: Underdog customers stick it to the man by
sticking something in their pockets. When “the man”
is actually a person, whether that be a small business
owner, a neighbor, or a friend of a friend, the action
of robbery trespasses into something more personal.
Walking down the tree-lined streets of Ann Arbor,
many stores are one of a kind, titled with names of
owners or the street that they are on; hand-painted
windows advertising their particular niche. Go to
a farm stand in Kerrytown enough times and you
might get your apple cider with a side of pleasant
banter, and learning the name of a new kind of let-
tuce might lead you to know the names of the people
that sell the produce. The experience of shopping
small is one that is photogenic, Instagram-mable and
yields memories worth posting about in the increas-
ingly popular monthly photo dump. On the contrary,
heading over to Walgreens or CVS to spend money on
generic snacks can’t be romanticized.
But stealing them can.
TikToks with the hashtag “#deviouslicks” have
sprung up on the For You Page of millions, in an effort
to channel a rebellious version of the main charac-
ter archetype. They usually begin by describing the
theft as “diabolical”, “devious” or “ungodly” as a
remix of a 2014 Lil B song sings in the background.
A few seconds later as the video concludes, one sees
the unscrewing of a hubcap in the parking lot, or the
empty holes of plumbing in the bathroom where a
toilet usually connects. (It is worth noting that upon
searching for the hashtag today, TikTok will invite
you to learn how to recognize “harmful challenges”.)
What is unique about these videos is the focus on
stealing from one’s own school. Any unsupervised
area is fair game: the soap dispensers of the boy’s
bathroom, stockpiles of disposable masks formerly
tucked away in closets or the occasional ceiling tile.
To users, the risk of discipline is a small price to pay
for the souvenirs of classroom chairs and the rush of
recognition from millions of online peers. The bore-
dom of mandatory education seeks to be remedied
through the creation of avant-garde collections of
stolen institutional furniture.
Yet unlike the retailers that dot the suburbs,
schools do not aim to make money and in many areas,
do not have enough. While the chronic underfunding
of schools is low on the list of things someone who is
about to steal the door to a bathroom stall might be
thinking about, there are some who carefully consider
the ethics of where exactly they choose to steal. This
includes large corporations as mentioned earlier, but
also not-for-profit retail stores like the Salvation Army
and Goodwill over concerns of worker exploitation
and discrimination. Perhaps viewed as more envi-
ronmentally and financially conscious consumerism
by the perpetrators, those in older generations may
look
down
upon
stealing this
from charity,
making it harder to
do the good
work these organizations have
done.
But are the conditions of suburban boredom and
corporate conglomerates enough to justify stealing
when others have to do it out of necessity? Shoplifting
due to hunger increased during the pandemic, and
it’s hard to criticize people who steal so they can put
food on the table. What’s a semi-frequent thrill for
some is a fact of life for many, and a means of enter-
tainment doesn’t share equal weight to means of
survival. One’s economic status and race affect how
accessible shoplifting is. Depending on the color of
the person’s hands peeling back the packaging of the
toy that January night, the consequences could range
from life-altering to a forgotten memory. Although
an isolated act of theft from corporations does not
necessarily affect any individual, in particular, does
stealing wrongly take advantage of a justice system
that’s overbearing on some people and too passive
on others? Are the desires to bring back power to the
common people served by ethical stealing if not all
people can participate? As one considers the justifica-
tions of what they’re stealing from, it’s worth consid-
ering their own identity, and if they are shifting the
societal power dynamic at all.
The phrase “there is no ethical consumption
under capitalism” gets thrown around a lot on the
University of Michigan’s campus, but it’s not too
clear what this means for theft. Everyone has differ-
ent comfort lines, and the gradient of what’s honor-
able isn’t linear. Rather, this invisible boundary can
be twisted and molded to whatever shape of justifica-
tion one might like — including the want for a collect-
ible plush egg. To be clear: theft is very much illegal,
but it also takes creativity, courage, and gusto and
can provide new social and philosophical realms for
people to explore. In a system that undervalues the
arts and emphasizes infatuation with the stock mar-
ket, exactly where money and resources should end
up is blurred with collective selfishness. So, if you’re
buying a card for a friend or getting ingredients to
feed someone dinner, why not grab the things for free
and get some adrenaline for yourself? The only thing
stopping you is your own moral judgment.
OSCAN NOLLETTE-PATULSKI
Statement Correspondent
On ethical stealing
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