Family Man®: Lost

by Gregory Keer

My chest tightens as I imagine the worst: someone took him, he's been hit by a car on the nearby boulevard, he's wandered too far away and is shouting out in fear, "Daddy, help me!"

In the waning daylight of an interminable day, I leave my oldest son to finish his homework while I check on my two younger boys in the back yard. Our babysitter, Angie, who helps me on days when my wife, Wendy, works the late shift, runs around with Ari (17 months) until I ask, "Where's Jacob?"

This is a question so often posed in reference to my middle child that it's become a family joke. "Where's Jacob?" frequently meets with answers that include: "He's feeding pet snails with gourmet cheese and grilled chicken in our best Tupperware," or "He's ripping towel racks from the wall in an effort to do chin-ups," or "He's finishing an industrial-sized vat of red licorice behind the bedroom door he's been told never to lock."

Then there are the moments when the answers take longer to arrive, like when he's vanished at a playground or scooted out of sight at an amusement park. Until I find him, these occasions induce the equivalent feeling of drowning on dry land.

This time, Angie says that he's in the playroom (a renovated garage), so I look in there. He's nowhere in sight. I check my adjacent office, but he's not there either. I call to him, "Jacob, it's time for dinner."

This usually works. Jacob likes food. So when he doesn't respond, I get a subtle sinking feeling. I go outside to ask Angie where he might be and she tells me, "He was just in the playroom. The yard gate is locked and everything."

I head into the house and search every room, staying as calm as possible as I call out his name in various tones, from an I'm-not-really-concerned "Hey, Jacob" to an in-on-the-joke "Are you hiding from me?"

I go back through the house, checking under tables, behind furniture and under bedcovers. He's nowhere to be found.

I return to the playroom to inspect the closets and the pop-up tent where he stores medieval knight parts. In my office, which doubles as our storage room, I look under my desk and around some boxes to shout, "Jacob! Where are you!"

Back outside, I ask Angie, "Are you sure he didn't get out of the yard?"