Scrambling for my son at the 5K finish line
Nothing is more terrifying than the search for a missing child. You try to convince yourself everything will be alright, but your mind wanders to the worst-case scenarios.
As the year comes to an end, I still remember the fear that gripped me in late September 2023, as I stood at the finish line of a 5K race in Clarkston, Georgia, waiting for my 11-year-old son.
I knew he could run a 5K in about 30 minutes. After 35 minutes and no sign of him, I began to worry. Forty minutes had passed, and still, he didn't show up. I set out on a frantic search.
Lost? Speaking with strangers? What had happened to him? I crossed railroad tracks and looked down into the distance, scanning the crowd for any sign of him. I debated whether I should keep running until I found him.
It had been an unusual morning. About an hour earlier, as we drove into the city, my son spotted an insect on the hood of my car. It was neon green and no bigger than a fingernail. And very friendly. This tiny green creature hopped onto my son's finger, passed through my shirt, and then returned to his son's hand, where it stayed for a long time before we finally named it "Little Friend."
The walk from the car to the registration booth is about a quarter-mile long. Little Friend lived with my son. We went back to the car to drop off some things. Little Friend lived with my son. We walked back along the tracks and waited for the start of the race. Kids run, too.
Later, I discovered that what we'd thought was a small creature was actually a pine cone beetle – probably a pine branch beetle, according to Entomology Professor Will Hudson of the University of Georgia, who examined a photo I sent him.
He told me, "When beetles are cold, they might find it comfortable to sit on something warm, like a hand."
Minutes before the race started, Little Friend hopped off my son's hand and landed on the sidewalk. Maybe it wanted to be free. But the sidewalk was no place for it. The pedestrian traffic was heavy and unpredictable. Little Friend was in danger. So my son knelt down and reached out his hand. Little Friend returned.
The race started, and Little Friend was getting ready for its freedom. My son would soon be running, the races would be long, his arms would swing, and Little Friend would be tossed and turned, eventually being knocked over. I felt a need to talk to the creature.
"You'll lose children," I told him.
My son disagreed and handled the situation with the appropriate respect.
Little Friend rested calmly on my son's hand.
The race began, and I lost sight of them.
I ran well, although not quite as fast as in college, and was excited as I approached the finish line. But when my son didn't appear, my excitement turned to anxiety.
In the spring, he ran a 5K in 30:34. He has come a long way from that goal since then. After more than 40 minutes, I panicked.
I asked everyone I saw if they had seen him. No one had. As I crossed the long straightaway and reached the railroad tracks, I saw him in the distance. But he wasn't there.
Back at race headquarters, I wondered how I could announce his full score without seeing him cross the finish line. In my confusion, I didn't even notice him crossing the line.
But luckily, he was only 45 minutes late.
There's another creature riding the top curve of my son's right pinky finger, like a very small captain on a very large ship.
Hudson also told me a few things about these pine cone beetles. They live between trees and bushes, and they are used to feeling the wind.
They are good at perseverance.
My prediction was wrong. My son hadn't run as fast as I thought, and he hadn't lost any children, and it seemed like these two facts were somehow connected. He had come down with a cold, which was improving. I suspected there was more to it, but I didn't press him too hard.
My son had his reasons, some of which he didn't even know. There are many ways to win a game.
We laughed our way back to the car and found several bushes on the parking lot that seemed like a good place for Little Friend to hide. Its letters and strong friendship had come to an end.
"Go now," my son said, gently pushing it away. With a little more force, the small friend finally jumped off his finger and fell to the ground. Its bright green body blended with the dark green bushes, and a fragile being disappeared out of sight.
One day, my son will set off on his own adventure. My brother recently sent me a picture of us together. It almost broke my heart. My six-year-old son held my hand and looked at me with an unspoken message in his eyes. It seemed like he wanted to say something. But I was looking forward to other things. When I saw the picture, I wanted to scream, "Turn around! Look at him! Nothing on earth is more important!"
My son knows the truth. Sometimes life gives you something beautiful, a fragile, fleeting treasure that clings to your hands. There's no need to rush. Treat it gently. Enjoy every moment. Wait until you can no longer wait.
Further Reading:
As I waited for my son, I began to feel increasingly anxious. As a parent, I had to decide what my next step should be.
The insect experiment in the car and the story I told my son highlight that parenthood is often much more complex than it appears. The role of a parent is multifaceted.
Source:
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