Do You Know This Child?

It was Monday morning after a full weekend of soccer and tee-ball spectating. My laundry was still residing in the dryer per usual. Since I would be working from home on this particular day and owing to my lack of clothing selection, I threw on a pair of old Nike track pants from circa 2000 that are and always have been approximately three inches too short. We are talking bottom of the barrel.

I was speaking to my boss on the phone when the doorbell rang. “That’s odd,” I said, “I’m not expecting anyone.” I opened the door, phone at my ear, to the sight of a woman in her thirties with a toddler on her hip and a very excited dog on a leash.

“Do you know this child?”

Perplexed, I said I did not, and she explained that she found the child wandering about, heading toward my backyard. The child had beautiful long curly hair, an Elmo shirt and a diaper and looked to be about two. The woman looked concerned and a bit frustrated.

“I’m going to have to call you right back,” I told my boss.

At the same time, I wondered if I was being set up. It wouldn’t be a bad ploy—distressed woman with baby and dog immediately disarms you while someone else swoops in for the kill.

Okay, maybe I’m watching too much true crime.

Back to the story. I asked her if she lived around here. I myself have only lived in the neighborhood for a little more than a year, but I didn’t recognize her. Plus, I was testing her. She said that she did and explained exactly where—down the street quite a way—with the level of detail one would only know if she indeed lived where she claimed. Phew.

I explained to her that I know most of the children who live right around me, and again, I had never seen this one. I walked outside to help her. The dog was agitated, probably from his walk being disturbed, and the woman looked tired, probably from holding this child and trying to keep the dog under control, so I offered to carry the child while we tried to find home.

The child gladly came into my arms. It was during the transition that I noticed an unopened bag of blue Doritos in his or her hand. No shoes, but chips for the road. I asked, “What's your name?” Not much of a response. “Where do you live?” Nothing. The woman said she had also tried to no avail.

I saw a neighbor doing some yard work and said we should check with him because he’s lived around here a long time. Perhaps he’d steer us in the right direction. We walked across the lawn and greeted him, leaf blower in his hand.

“Do you know this child?”

He did not, and he was sure the child didn’t live anywhere near us. He said we ought to try the opposite direction. He felt compelled to join us, leaf blower and all.

So off we went, walking in the middle of the street, four strangers and a dog, united in our cause to find this child’s home. We’d be presenting ourselves to the neighborhood during this search with the signature high water Nike track pants, an Elmo shirt and diaper, some blue Doritos, a leaf blower, and an anxious dog.

One by one, we walked up to homes of people none of us knew. It’s amazing how one’s social anxiety gives way in these situations.

“Do you know this child?”

“No, cute kid though.”

[I’m not trying to sell you the child, I’m trying to find his or her home.]

Each time we were met with a negative head shake, I became a little more uneasy. All the questions and intrusive thoughts started flooding in—what if we can’t find the parents? What if someone left this child here? What will we do? Who do we call?

Then, the child started pointing to a particular house and saying, “Papa! Papa!” We walked up to that house. A kind woman who definitely was not papa but wished she knew him. Off we went.

Finally, about a quarter of a mile from where the child was found, a break in the case. The next man said, “Yes, I recognize those eyes. The man next door has the same ones. Try that house.” Fascinating, right? I hadn’t even noticed the eyes.

When we approached the next house, the door was cracked open about three inches as if someone—perhaps our Elmo buddy—had escaped. We knew we had hit the jackpot. But the doorbell and our knocks went unanswered. More questions and intrusive thoughts. What if there’s been an emergency? What if someone needs help? Should we call the police? Finally, we yelled “hello” a few times.

A frantic mother came to the door with a work-like headset on. She had been on a call and he (a boy!) had snuck out, unbeknownst to her until she got up to answer us. She was terrified and relieved and grateful all at once. We handed him over and went our separate ways. I never did learn his name. I hope he got to eat his blue Doritos. I hope the dog got his walk. I hope the leaves got blown. And I hope the kind hero lady has a special treat in her future. As for me, I’ve decided it’s time to retire the track pants.

This is what AI tells me we looked like. Where are the track pants? What about the leaf blower? And the curly blonde hair? Why are my toes exposed on only one shoe? Do better, AI, do better.

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