Who's fault is it?

My neighbor left a message on my cell phone the other day. "Dirk, please call me ASAP. I need to talk to you about an urgent issue." I knew then that his call had something to do with J. When I called him later he was really pissed. “Your son broke into our house today surprising my wife who was sleeping. When she asked him what he was doing there he said he needed an egg. Are you out of eggs at your house?” he asked. My heart was in my throat at that point and I replied “No… I don't think so.” “So what the fuck was J doing in my house?” he asked. I could sense the restraint in his voice; probably more than I would have had in a similar situation. "He was looking for money” I said glumly. He had asked me to borrow the truck that morning to help a friend move and I had told him that it was low on gas and he would need to get at least a few gallons. He said he had the money. Apparently he had hoped that my friend would have the money. There was a pause as the harsh reality of the situation set into my friends mind. “From me?” he said incredulously. “After everything I have done for him?” There was less restraint in his words as he wrestled with a multitude of emotions. I know that feeling of violation when Josh has entered our bedroom rifling through our belongings looking for money. My friends feeling of violation must be an order or magnitude greater then what I experienced. “I am sorry” I said rubbing my hand across my face. “Dude, it is not your fault” he replied. But I knew it was. I have failed as a Father. My son is a thief, a liar and probably on the road to a life of crime.