The Milan News-Leader
A Heritage Newspaper
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Don't lose sight of your childrenCox
Home Front
PUBLISHED: January 31, 2008
I forgot my son once and once I lost him. I have not as of yet lost my daughter, but being an equal-opportunity parent, I have forgotten her.
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It would not be an exaggeration to say all three incidents brought me a good deal of angst and paternal guilt. And it would be an understatement to say that the lapses in oversight didn't exactly go over well with my wife.
When I forgot my son, I was caught up in a rather intense, nip-and-tuck rubber match of Scrabble against an able adversary. The fact I was to pick my son up from his Boy Scout meeting that evening was pushed from my mind as I considered my most effective play with a rack of letters resembling D, I, I, V, O, U, T.
The boy didn't reenter my mind until my wife called to find out why we were not home. I was already 15 minutes late picking him up and a full half hour away. While memorable for its colorful language, it wasn't a pleasant conversation, having to admit our son had slipped my mind.
Fortunately, I was able to contact the father of another Scout, who agreed to give my son a ride home. Despite displaying my well-honed skills at crisis resolution, neither my son nor my wife was inclined to look past the fact that I had caused the crisis.
I lost my son at the Toledo Zoo. It was a field trip with his kindergarten class and early on we had separated from the group. It was as we were leaving that I paused to photograph a majestic American bald eagle. The boy asked if he could run down to the end of a curving ramp near the exit, and because I intended to take only a single shot I agreed. I would meet him at the bottom; he was not, after all, that fast of a runner.
One photograph turned into three because I couldn't find quite the right angle. Two extra photographs were all it took for my son to disappear. When I got to the bottom of the ramp, he was gone. Gone. I couldn't find him anywhere -- not in the bathrooms, not in any of the little food kiosks, not on any of the benches.
As people flowed out of the zoo, my eyes couldn't dart fast enough, my ears could not strain hard enough trying to pick up the sound of his voice or laugh. I imagined unimaginable scenarios. I cannot say I panicked, but my chest felt thick with fear. Finally conceding that I could not find him, I spoke with security.
"I have lost my son," I said simply.
Now, I don't know how many times a day the zoo security hears that, but I was definitely not the first. They didn't raise an eyebrow. I gave them a brief description of the boy and with some quick exchanges by walkie-talkie inside of a minute they had located him on the other side of the walkway that crosses the expressway. When I made my over there, he came running to me, crying, and we hugged for a while. OK, it was a long while.
I haven't experienced such terror since and I never want to again.
I forgot to meet my 6-year-old daughter at the bus on a day she had an early dismissal. That brought me another call from my wife after a kind neighbor came across my daughter crying all alone in our driveway because no one was home and she was unable to get inside the house.
"That will never happen again," I later promised my daughter.
"But it could," she replied.
There's clearly some rebuilding of trust to be done there.
Last week, I attended a meeting of the group Saline Coalition to Reduce Underage Drinking where we learned about common household aerosol products some young children are huffing for the buzz; about alcoholic beverages disguised as energy drinks some teens are consuming; about the dangers present in some Internet chat rooms haunted by pedophiles.
"Pay attention to what your children are doing," urged the experts.
I thought of the times I had forgotten my son and daughter and of the time I lost my son because I had not been paying attention, because my mind had been on a game or work or a bald eagle.
It turns out a parent cannot afford distractions. Constant vigilance is needed. The consequences can be too great to excuse lapses.
And not the least of those consequences are colorful phone calls from a spouse.
Staff Writer Brian Cox can be reached at 429-7380 or bcox@heritage.com.
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