Lost!

Misplaced, missing, or just lost — they all meant the same thing that fateful night back at 110 Flamingo Street. It was the worst whooping I ever got from my dad.

To be honest, it wasn’t really my fault. Someone, probably Down the Street Bully Brad, had stolen my bike. And with no bike, I had to walk home from Cliff Condos, the three-year dig to make a five-bedroom condo in a dirt cliff.

My three brothers and I, along with Neighbor Thomas, Bubba Hanks and Goofy Steve, had spent the last three summers digging into the sandstone cliff. The cliff occupied most of the vacant lot five houses down from us.

That day I was the one digging in the backroom. By the time I realized everyone else had left for dinner, it was dark out. Even way back when I was a kid, it wasn’t a good thing to be out after dark. It wasn’t for fear of anything outside, but what would be waiting for the unfortunate soul when he or she got back home. That night, I was the unfortunate soul.

Mom and Dad had one rule: be back home before the sun went down. I had just broken the unbreakable rule and I couldn’t find my bike. Somehow in the day’s fun playing at the Cliffs, someone had snuck up and stolen my bike.

It wasn’t that I misplaced, lost, or just forgot where it was; any of those answers would mean that I was irresponsible. Nope, my story was that someone had stolen a used bike with a bent front tire from a 10-year-old and that’s why I was out after dark. Well, it seemed like a good story at the time.

I had a long walk in the dark back up Flamingo Street to rehearse my story and thought I actually had a chance of pulling it off.

That is, until I saw four police cars, two fire trucks, and a deputy sheriff’s car parked in front of our house - all with their lights flashing. It seemed for the last hour while I was busy digging the closet in the back bedroom of Cliff Condos, 10 people were out searching for little old me.

After thinking me lost, you would think my parents would’ve been happy to see me. Overjoyed is not exactly the reaction I received after walking through the front door.

First, Mom yelled at me for tracking dirt all over the floor. The police said something to me about being irresponsible, and Dad – well, let’s just say he waited for everyone to leave before having his little talk with me.

Even though it happened forever ago, that was the first time I remember losing something and not being able to find it. Most will say losing things is a sign of old age; I got news for them. I’ve been misplacing and losing stuff for over 40 years.

Car keys are the worst; they are always losing themselves. Okay, maybe that doesn’t prove much, but around our house my not remembering where I put stuff has now spread to The Wife. That’s serious, because she never forgets anything.

Last week, some of her important papers went missing. The first option was to blame the husband, the guy who has piles of paper everywhere in the house.

It’s understandable. Surely he either misplaced The Wife’s important papers or threw them out. The “throwing them out” option was quickly discarded because I never throw anything out – especially paper.

It could be said that I’m a human pack rat, but my piles of papers all over the house is another story for another time. This story is about The Wife losing stuff. A much better story, I might add.

Though still wounded from being falsely accused, I summoned my strength and helped The Wife. We spent the morning looking all over the house, but to no avail. The important papers were just gone, lost, missing.

I suggested that maybe Down the Street Bully Brad had snuck in and stolen them. That comment earned me a sharp elbow to the ribs.

The only other place they could be was at her office, so we piled into the car and drove an hour. After searching her office and finding no papers, I suggested we have lunch.

She apologized for wasting my time. I told her that having a nice lunch with her is never wasted time. That comment awarded me a kiss on the cheek. Author’s note: kiss on the cheek much better than sharp elbow in ribs.

When we returned back home, she said she was going to look in one more place before giving up. Sure enough, the important paperwork was in the bag lying on the floor of her closet – the last place she looked.

I suggested that next time we lose something, we just look in the last place first, then we wouldn’t have to spend half a day worrying about where we lost something. Instead we could spend the whole day helping me search though my many piles of papers for tax stuff.

Tax time is getting closer, and like my bike, I’m lost trying to figure out all those new forms by myself.

After Dad had his “talk” with me, I had a new respect for the saying, “Turn the other cheek.” The next day Bubba Hanks helped me find my lost bike. It was behind the bushes next to the vacant lot. Oddly enough, it was the last place we looked and right where I had hidden it so it wouldn’t get stolen by Bully Brad.

Back then, Bubba was great at finding lost stuff and helping people with their problems. I wonder if he could help with my tax stuff? I’m having a huge problem with all of the new changes, and I’m about as lost as someone can get.