Except him, of course — after all, he was the only one who knew he wasn't lost, or worse.
One of his parents usually picks him up at school, parking out on the street and walking up to the school. (That’s a far sight better than the other option of queuing up in a snaking line of cars longer than the phalanxes of girls who elbowed their way into theaters during the recent opening weekend of "The Twilight Saga; New Moon." I've picked him up a couple of times, so I can attest to the fact that the procession offers a grueling experience, sometimes leaving you feeling as if you're camping overnight to get concert tickets for a Gene Pitney concert.)
Some days, though, Vincent walks out toward the street to wait near the traffic light/crossing guard for Mom or Dad. But one day, his feet didn't stop at the light but veered right, and he kept right on walking — off the school grounds, and down the sidewalk heading home.
When Melissa trekked up to the school, the teacher said he had started walking, so they assumed he would be out by the light.
Bedlam ensued. School officials were concerned, and Melissa was frantic. Those who might wonder why Vincent would have abandoned kindergartener brother Jack at the school door must be only children: There comes a time when a cool, self-respecting second-grader just has to break out on his own, and leave younger siblings in his wake.
Melissa retrieved Jack and handed him off to a mom friend who kept him in her van while Melissa leaped into her own van with 3-year-old Luke and 1-year-old Patrick, who were asleep. Then she drove around frantically searching for her first-borne, urging herself to be calm while her Mama Bear instincts surged at the thought that something might have happened to him.
"I told myself," she confided to me, "that first I was gonna HUG him, and then I was gonna KILL him."
Of course, she forgot to kill him, but she nearly hugged him to death. She explained that she wasn’t angry at him (rather, she confessed a little pride at his showing an independent streak he inherited from her).
But she made it clear that NEXT time, he would, indeed, be in trouble.
He assured her that there wouldn’t be a next time.
She allowed as how his escapade had surprised everybody because it was so out of character for him. He normally is a rule keeper’s rule keeper.
Indeed, he said, "You know who it surprised the MOST, Mommy? ME! I was walking to meet you and when I didn’t see you, something in my head kept saying, 'Feet, keep WALKIN'. Keep WALKIN.'"
The day after the incident, Melissa told me it was 45 minutes until she had him in the van. Chances are, it was more like 20 minutes, maybe even just 10, and she’s just being dramatic. But I suppose it seemed like almost an hour, to a frantic mom (but what do I know?).
I’d wager that, as years go by, some day, when Melissa’s my age and Vincent, hers — and I’m a distant memory and a faded picture on the wall whose grandfather tales have long since been relegated to some dusty archives in cyberspace — they’ll be sitting around a holiday table regaling each other with stories about adventures long past.
By then, the story will have grown legs and Jack will pipe up, “Remember the time Vincent abandoned me at school and was lost for HOURS, and nobody could find him, and the school went into lockdown, and the sheriff’s department sent up helicopters and marshaled the canine patrol, and the state police have blasted forth an Amber Alert, and the national guard called a battalion back from Afghanistan, and President Obama called on ACORN to quit organizing communities (and votes) and organize a search instead, and the United Nations declared an international emergency, and we STILL couldn’t find him?”
Melissa will rock back in her chair, bouncing a couple of grandkids on her knees and nod knowingly, saying, “Yes, you little dears, we almost lost your daddy that day. Land sakes, what a DAY. I searched for that boy for DAYS!”
But for now, she thought he needed at least to apologize to the assistant principal. She doesn’t believe in idle exercises, so she had the lad convey his remorse, and contrition, in writing.
Although I can make light of the incident now because it had a happy ending, the sad side is that we have to be so frightened today about our kids’ welfare. Back when granddad was a lad, our parents admonished us not to take candy from strangers, but I never ran across a stranger even offering an all-day sucker (believe me, I was on the lookout for one, because I was a poor drycleaner’s son who got only a few pennies every other Friday [if it was a good week] to buy some penny candy). And none of my friends saw that stranger, either.
What’s more, we could roam our little towns at will, disappearing in the morning and not darkening the doorstep ’til dark. Nobody worried.
These days, you can’t let a child out of your sight.
Vincent has vowed that there won’t be a next time, but I can imagine that if there happened to be, he wouldn’t be listening to his feet.
Rather, he’ll be pleading with them, resurrecting that saying that even predates granddad: “FEET, don't FAIL me now!”
Meanwhile, here’s the reunited family, with Vincent on the right, with the others, from his right, being Mom (age classified secret, although I think she looks pretty dadgummed good for somebody who's damnnear 40!), with 1-year-old Patrick Michael on her lap and 6-year-old Jack behind her, and Dad holding 3-year-old Luke.
Melissa obviously can keep her mind on the task at hand, while the others’ eyes seem to be straying. Whatever on EARTH could be attracting their attention? Well, perhaps they are staring, in awe, at the 9-pound, maybe 10-pound, bass I caught Thanksgiving Day (don't fret, though, I pardoned him and released him, unlike turkeys throughout the land). And that's no fish tail tale — as this photo proves. Also, lest you imagine that's a huge paunch you see me (left) carrying, BESIDES the bass, before even partaking of a Thanksgiving repast, my abs obviously are bulging to hold the behemoth from the deep.)HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO YA.
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