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Thursday, August 20, 2015

Help Me Understand This


When I was growing up, like many of you, we got in the car, and usually dad sometimes mom, would start the engine, back the car out of the garage, down the driveway and onto the street.  Then, off we’d go on another adventure.

Seems pretty simple and straightforward, right?  Well, on the surface, yes, it is.


Now, fast forward 50 years to 2015.  Same scenario, except that at the end of that journey, I’m sitting in the car on a very hot, dry summer day, the windows are up, and mommy has left me to bake in my car seat while she, “… just runs in to get a few things. I’ll only be gone a few minutes, dear.”


The next thing I know, there are people outside, yelling at me, pounding on the car windows, I am getting really tired, and it’s hard to keep my eyes open. I can feel the pounding, it almost sounds like mommy’s heartbeat; hard to keep my eyes open…


BAM!
I’m out and floating in the air.  People are screaming, crying, yelling.  
“My baby!  What happened to my baby??” 


Where am I?  Where’s mommy? 


Does any of this sound eerily familiar?  I hope so, because there have been dozens of these scenarios playing out across the United States where a mother or father, “forgets” that junior is in that car seat, in extremely hot, 3-digit temperatures and runs or scoots into the store for “just a few minutes.”


How does a parent get “too busy” or “too distracted” to remember their child in that car seat?  I mean, come on, let’s get real here.  Until they are 18 years old, sometimes longer, they need and rely on you!  The umbilical cord isn’t actually severed until right around 18 years of age.


So, please, someone, help me understand this?


How is it that anything could possibly be more important than that tiny, innocent little creature that you created, being left inside that oven to bake?


  1. Oh, I just thought I’d be gone a little while.
  2. I forgot.
  3. I didn’t know.
  4. I’m so sorry.

These are just a few of the myriad of “lame excuses” that parents have produced when being confronted with law enforcement upon returning to their cars only to find out that little Johnny or little Sally was left in that car to be baked alive.


Thankfully, in most of these cases, law enforcement has shown up in the knick of time in order to not only save the baby, but arrest the hapless parent, as well.


Does it sound gruesome?  Good. Maybe that will get you thinking the next time you decide your smartphone, cellphone, tablet, or shopping is more important that than precious little life.  Your baby.



Follow these links:








Forgotten
% of total
Mother
98
29%
Father
115
34%
Both Parents
35
10%



Grandmother
14
4%
Grandfather
10
3%
Both Grandparents
1
less than 1%



Other Female relative
8
2%
Other Male relative
5
1%



Female Childcare
18
5%
Male Childcare
17
5%
Unknown Childcare
1
less than 1%



Other Female
2
1%
Other Male
2
1%
Unknown
12
4%
Total
338

 

These are some very scary stats, don't you agree?


My parents never left us in the car, because we were actually important to them.

My Bucket List



I started a “bucket list” a few days ago.  And while I was typing, it occurred to me that nothing on the list was of any consequence to anyone.  Nothing remarkable.  Nothing memorable.  Just random thoughts, and random places:
  1. Go to the beach
  2. Go to the mountains
  3. Go to the east coast
  4. Go to Washington, D.C.
  5. Do something that is remarkable, for which I will be remembered fondly.
Seems rather forgettable, doesn’t it?

It’s a painful reminder that for the past 15 years, I have been unremarkable and very forgettable.

The pain I have inflicted on others, my family in particular, I cannot take back, and I cannot say, “I am truly sorry” enough times to make up for it.

Now that I am retired, maybe in some small way, somehow I can redeem myself before my time is up.  I wish I could undo those terrible, horrible things I did so long ago that got me to where I am today. Oh, how I wish I could.

And now, I feel as though I am racing against the clock on my final lap, yet somehow, fast as I run, much as I try, it’s just not enough.  It will never be enough. 

I won’t be remembered as a great, or even a good father.
I won’t be remembered as a good or even fair husband.
I won’t be remembered as a true or even adequate friend.
No, I’ll be remembered and defined as “that guy that broke the law in November, 2000, and ruined everyone’s life ever since that time.  An evil, distraught, disgusting, retched monster.

So many regrets.  I wish it was over with yesterday.

I don’t know that I would be any better a second time around either.