The Drill Sargeant. That was gonna be the title of this story. That is, until I lost it. Now to some of you Dear Readers out there, that statement comes as no surprise. To others, such self-analyzing by yours truly has been long overdue. But in either case, the facts still point to one undeniable truth: I have truly lost it. Don’t worry though. Eventually I found it, but you’ll never guess where. Hint: it even surprised me.
Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning, my task is a relatively simple one: wake our two granddaughters up by attacking them with small stuffed bees, get them dressed, fed, teeth brushed, hair fixed, lunches packed, backpacks checked and stuffed with the stuffy toy of their choice, and leave the house no later than 8:30 a.m. All of this in order to arrive at school on time.
Okay, with everything that needs to be accomplished before leaving, perhaps calling it all a “simple” task understates the difficulty just a smidgen. Each task must be accomplished by a certain time, otherwise the Big Papa Morning Express Train transporting the girls to school will not arrive on time.
Last Monday, the Morning Express was not only slowed, but completely derailed at the garage door with a simple question I asked myself, “Where did I put my car keys?” Yep, I had lost it once again, the “it” being my car keys.
Now before anyone writes in stating that losing things like car keys is a sign of getting older, please read again the paragraph above. Never more than now do I appreciate what my mom accomplished each school morning. And she had five kids!
If I recall correctly, she never lost her car keys. My parents had a special place for all the important keys: a row of gold hooks. One of the first things Dad did when we moved into 110 Flamingo Street was to secure a row of gold hooks to the wall in the kitchen just above the yellow wall phone. Dad said if we ever used a key for any reason, it must always be replaced when we were finished, or else. I didn’t know what the “or else” really meant back then, but I do now. Replace the keys back on the hooks or else you will lose them.
When The Wife and I first moved into our house, I secured a row of gold hooks to the kitchen wall right above the desk. Twelve years later, those hooks are still there — empty, but they are still there. I find keeping my keys next to my cell phone is the best way not to lose either.
For five years, it’s been a flawless system – right up to this past Monday. At 8:31 a.m., the great key search began. I called it that to help enlist the aid of the girls in the search. Note to Reader: commissioning help from soon-to-be 3 and 4-year-olds for search of lost car keys should only be done when all other avenues of searching have failed and you are beyond desperate.
By 8:45 a.m. both backpacks had been emptied, searched, and repacked along with the stuffy of choice: a blue dragon outfitted with a red backpack for Sweet Caroline and “BaBa” the sheep for Little One. At 8:55 a.m. a frantic text message was placed to The Wife asking for help with the search. Her answer was, “Should be next to your phone.”
Being as I was currently holding my phone and not my keys, I knew they must still be somewhere else. And no, before you ask, they weren’t in my pocket. I looked there first.
At 9:20 a.m, after an exhaustive search of every possible place one could leave his keys, I started the search from the beginning again by empting both backpacks. The little blue dragon with the red backpack fell to the ground with a “clink.”
This got all of my attention because a stuffy doesn’t normally go “clink” when it falls to the floor. My keys were inside the little red backpack and not on the table next to my phone where I had left both. Seems Sweet Caroline thought it was a good place for my keys so I wouldn’t lose them.
After a quick diaper change and then conversation on the importance of not moving, playing with, or otherwise touching Big Papa’s keys, the girls got to school by 9:40 a.m. and I got to start my day. I was gonna completely forget about the stress of the morning and losing things. After such a rocky start, the day could do nothing but get better. Or so I thought.
The Wife and I had decided to redo our backyard so I went to the stone and gravel place we call Rock City right off of our Main Street. We are going to have the company install a fire pit and grilling area for the adults, along with a sandbox for the girls. After agreeing on a price, it was time to pay and I reached for my wallet and my one and only credit card. You guessed it. The one and only credit card was gone! I immediately thought of a little blue dragon’s backpack.
After dismissing the dragon idea, my frantic search of the wallet and then the car began before a harrowing drive back home. The search of every nook and cranny of our house took three hours. Then I broke down and called The Wife. After listening to my plight, she asked if I had looked in the last place I remember seeing it.
“Of course I have,” I said. “It wasn’t in my wallet. I always put it there.” Then she asked if I’d checked my pockets. I started to check and replied, “It would be silly not to look there first.” And that’s when I found my not so lost credit card. I’d stopped for gas before arriving at Rock City and paid with the card. Knowing it was to be used again right around the corner, I didn’t place it back into my wallet. It was in my right front pocket.
Guess I’m getting older after all. I’ll just have to ponder that dilemma in a few weeks from now – while eating a freshly grilled burger, enjoying the warmth next to the fire pit and watching the girls in their new sandbox.
[Rick Ryckeley has been writing stories since 2001. To read more of Rick’s stories, visit his blog: storiesbyrick.wordpress.com.]
