Today I had to call 911. We couldn't find Matthew and after driving around the neighborhood calling his name and checking all the houses we knew had kids he plays with, I called the Sheriff. Intellectually I knew he was probably inside someones house playing with a friend we didn't know he had, but of course that other side of the mind goes somewhere else. The "what ifs" play on the big screen of your brain like the scary images from Willy Wonkas boat ride. What if someone took him? What if he's in a house with some strange freak doing things to him? What if he's lying hurt somewhere and can't answer when we call? What would I do without him? Our neighborhood isn't really bad, but there are reasons I don't knowingly allow my 6-year-old to wander alone. The creek bed that runs along the back side of the community, where those without a home have been known to take up residence. The criminal element of those young boys who fancy themselves "gansta". There's too much at stake which is why we have rules. You DO NOT play outside without getting permission. You DO NOT leave our street without getting permission. You DO NOT go into any house without getting permission. All of these rules were broken and now that it's over I'm thanking God that he's okay while simultaneously fighting the urge to wring his neck myself.
The joys of parenting are many. Or so I keep telling myself.
(A huge thanks to the friends who without hesitation interrupted their plans to help look for him. We love you guys!)
"Stop Knowing All the Things, Mom!"
9 years ago
