Some years ago I decided my son and I needed a vacation. Not another trip to the beach but a real vacation. And since Jake was nine and I read somewhere that nine was the “ideal” age for Disney World, I thought “Why not? Let’s do it.” We spent six months planning this trip: reading every bit of information we could find, analyzing photos and reviews, and engaging in more than a few debates on where to stay and what to do first. In the end, we planned what we considered the consummate eight day trip to every child’s utopia---complete with a limo ride from the airport to the hotel (and a stop at the grocery store en route.) And in fact it was a terrific week.
It was the trip home that got us into trouble.
Not usually one to arrive early when flying, I decided to play it safe this time so we had a little over an hour to kill after our ID’s were reviewed and approved, tickets verified and luggage sent off to the black hole referred to as “baggage transport.” (A term which implies that the bags will in fact be transported. Not always the case. But that’s another story.) Now understand as we rode the tram to the concourse we were both bleary eyed and sluggish from the constant stimulation and nonstop sugar high of the past week, yet still determined to squeeze every bit of fun out of the trip. Instead of sitting down and basking in the glow of our vacation like regular people, we decided to nose around in the bookstores and toy stores to see if there was anything of value we failed to buy during the week. Not likely, but it’s best to be certain. Anyway, Jake and I scoped out the toy store and seeing nothing we wanted, walked toward the bookstore across the hall. We stopped to look at the departing/arriving flight schedule. Jake quickly lost interest and asked to go in the bookstore –the door was approximately 20 feet from me. “Sure”, I said. “I’ll be there in a minute.” I sent him on, watched to see exactly where in the rows of books he stopped, looked back up at the flight schedule then followed him into the store. Again I looked to be sure I knew where he was—after all I’m not a complete moron. HOWEVER, I did not catch his eye, speak to him or in any other way let him know I had now joined in the search for another book.
Okay maybe I’m inching closer to ‘moron’ status.
Having satisfied myself that I was fulfilling my parental responsibility I dropped down to my knees and began perusing the books on the bottom shelf. About 4-5 minutes later---I’m not as young as I used to be so squatting like that for more than a couple of minutes is damn near impossible--- I popped up and looked over to towards the aisle most recently containing my son. He wasn’t there. No worries. He’s still a small boy and there were several places in the store he could be. Checked them all. No Jake. A tiny worry creeped into my mind but still not really concerned. He’s probably standing right outside the store waiting on me. He does that sometimes at the mall at home. Still no Jake. I continued to squash my growing sense of urgency and concern. Silly boy probably walked back across to the toy store. Hmm…..No Jake. Panic is starting to grow legs and arms and wrap itself firmly around my heart and mind. Calm down Melissa. He’s close by. Just stop and look around. The concourse is not that large but suddenly it seemed filled with blonde nine year old boys.
And then my imagination broke free. Where is he? Has someone taken him? Is he already loaded onto a flight and headed out of the country? it possible I was able to take this child by myself to WDW for nine days without losing him only to lose him on the way home????
I head straight for the cashier in the bookstore, ignoring the annoyed looks being thrown at me by the customers in line and say, “Have you seen my son?” My presence barely registers on her face. “No.” I begin describing him and she doesn’t look up. I might as well have talked to the wall. However one gentleman in the shop takes notice of the frantic expression on my face and the rising pitch of my voice and begins walking toward me. Like a mad woman---or a mother who can’t find her son, I say “Pay attention. I CANT find my son. He was just in this store.” She tells me to step outside and pick up the emergency phone on the wall. I must have walked past this phone 10 times already and never noticed its existence. By this time, the man who noticed my distress reaches me and asks what my son’s name is and heads to the bathroom. I say with some frustration and hopeful confidence that Jake won’t answer you because he doesn’t know you---trusting that the safety lessons we covered so thoroughly before we left home made an impression. Fortunately he responds that at least he can confirm if there is a boy alone in the restroom. All this happens as I’m covering the 15 or so feet to the white security phone. I promptly pick it up and forgetting all my good southern manners shout to the woman on the other end “MY SON IS MISSING!!” …… As though her hearing was diminished or the phone might not be working well that day. She was kind though and calmly asked me to describe him---as I have a keen eye for detail, I quickly and confidently tell her he’s blonde and carrying a Disney world bag. I know I was helpful because there couldn’t have been more than 5,000 blonde headed nine year olds that morning walking around the airport holding DW bags. Well at least they weren’t looking for brunettes or redheads. The “voice of security” again calmly and patiently asks me if I can tell her what he’s wearing, and again relying on my wealth of descriptive language I go on to explain he’s wearing tennis shoes and dark,........or maybe not so dark shorts. She must have been delighted. She probably doesn’t often get the chance to work with a parent so clearly tuned in to the world around her. Let’s face it, I’m nothing if not observant. By now, the ‘voice of security’ wisely realizes the description (clear as it was) would not likely result in a found child and she should move ahead to shutting down the terminal. As she calls security and an announcement is made over the PA that no one will be able to enter or leave the concourse, my cell phone starts to ring. I didn’t recognize the number and ignored it. It rang again and this time I answered. A kind voice on the other end explained that she was a security guard and she had some precious cargo for me........
It was like one of those cheesy commercials where lovers or family members or whatever spot one another across a room and start to run. Okay in this case, I saw him long before he saw me. With a crazy heavy carry on, loaded up purse and shopping bags hanging off of me, I run through the concourse arriving just about the time my sweet precious turned and saw me. Needless to say I was absolutely squawling---tears streaming down my face. I dropped everything and scooped him up in the best hug I’ve ever felt. All trace of decorum and dignity gone, I was laughing and crying and hugging Jake and the security guard who delivered him to me. I was elated. People around us stopped and stared. Parents and Grandparents--- without knowing the details--- watched the reunion, identified with the relief of a parent snatched out of the jaws of despair and smiled in recognition. How many times have I thought…. change the name and the story is told of me? Only this time it was me.
The rest of the story is good too. Jake, it seems, did not hear me say I would follow him into the book store. Expecting to find me still standing in front of the flight schedule, he was a little confused but not at all concerned when I wasn’t there. He checked the toy store and then went searching for me throughout the concourse. According to him, he was not scared or worried at all until the last few seconds before I appeared. He said, “I knew you would find me. I just needed to stop moving around.” Bless his heart.
A word of thanks and praise to the security folks at MCO—they are professional and unusually kind to insane parents who can’t find their kids. If you have to get lost somewhere, I highly recommend the Orlando Airport.
Peace,
Melissa
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