So here is the not funny at all story of after we got home. I’m a little ashamed of myself, but I will tell it anyway in the hopes that some of you other dads (moms too) will think twice before you lose your temper. This all happened since I posted this thread.
First, the backstory. Until I was eight years old, my family lived on a lake in a mountainous region dotted with other lakes. One early spring day, my father and I hiked up to the top of the mountain between our lake and the next closest one. I think I was about seven at the time. Much like my sons, I have always spent a lot of time outdoors. I had a Case knife, a small toothpick I think, though I can’t really remember it clearly.
Anyway, once at the top, we were checking out the view and my father was pointing out the other lakes and what not. I don’t know, I wasn’t really listening. I was playing/admiring/fondling that knife. You know, the way we lovingly hold our knives to this very day… hey, I know I’m not the only one. I end up dropping the knife on the ground. This would be no big deal, normally, except that there is eight inches of snow on the ground.
The panic sets in fast. My father didn’t notice, so I figure I could quickly find it and avoid any trouble. Instead of standing still and looking around by my feet, I wander around in a six foot circle, flattening all the snow and forget where I was standing when the search commenced. As you can imagine, I can not find the knife at this point and finally have to tell my father. Now we are both upset but for different reasons; me for the loss of a prized possession and him for realizing his oldest son isn’t quite as reponsidlble with the tools in trusted to him as he had presumed. We never find the knife. In the nearly forty years since, I’ve been to that hilltop on several occasions in the vain hope of locating a ghost of a knife. My wife thinks those hikes are just for nostalgia. If she only knew.
To this day, it is one of the most poignant and sad memories I have. (Which really means I’ve had a pretty great life, all things considered. After all, it was just a knife)
Fast forward to last summer. Two sons of my own now. A life of fun outdoors. Pockets full of stuff. Like father like son, as they say. The older one is quite careful and responsible with his gear, the little one… not so much. Hiking an out and back, we are almost back to the trailhead when he announces to my wife that his SAK is MIA. Too scared to tell me as history repeats itself despite my constant efforts to do better and be better than my father. (Which isn’t to say that my dad wasn’t great, he was. It’s just that I can see where “mistakes” were made and I try to not make the same ones.)
I immediately have him do a pocket search to be sure it is gone. Then the interrogation begins followed shortly by the responsibility rant. I send the rest of them back to the trailhead as I backtrack. I find nothing as I approach the spot where we turned around. All I can think about is this kid reliving my worse knife nightmare. Plus, I hate losing stuff. I mean, it really ticks me off. I say a quick prayer to St. Anthony as I often do when something seems lost beyond all hope and press on. I get to the turn around point without finding the knife, but just up the trail I see another hiker heading away from me. It’s a long shot, but what else can I do, I have to find that knife.
I chase that guy down and as I approach him he turns and says, “Are you looking for this?” as he holds out the SAK. The really strange thing is, this guy looked just like Santa Claus. Pretty sure he was Santa Claus. I thank him profusely, tell him what I want for Christmas and haul keyster back down the trail. The young one gets a lecture on the ride back to the house that includes the story of my first lost knife. At the time I convince myself that the lesson has been learned.
Fast forward again till this evening. After the mine tour, we go out to eat at Red Robin (Yum). Actually, that was our first time there and the burgers were pretty good, but overall, it was very expensive for what it was. Nearly $63 dollars for two adults and two kids. Mrs. Cone did have two coctails, but still. Gave the young lady four $20s (I’m a grumpy old guy, but I’m a pretty good tipper unless things have gone horrible wrong) which, if I do a little quick math… +*/=~~~~=, yup, that’s like $20 per person for a burger and fries. But I digress.
As my wife is putting the younglings to bed, the little one tells her his flashlight is missing and that the last place he remembers having it is at the Red Robin. I get called upstairs where I immediately lose my temper. I go right for the responsibility speech and the “that flashlight was forty dollars” argument. BTW, the flashlight is one of four Pentagon M.O.L.L.E. lights that were crazy expensive for a single AA / 40 Lumen light that we each keep by out individual night stands. I ask the ridiculous “Why couldn’t you lose the easily replaceable $6 Sipik 68 instead of a $40 light from a company that no longer exists?” question that no person, much less an eight year old, can answer.
Now, my ever sensible bride, in defense of her cubs, reminds me in no uncertain terms that it is my fault because I carry stuff and they are just mimicking what they see and why would I give a $40 flash light to a toddler (we have had those flashlights for a long time) anyway.
I quickly counter that I would never give them something I would get for myself and that the first thing I asked as we got up from the booth was that everyone do a gear check (What I didn’t say aloud was, “Because I know how you people are”). To which the boys claimed to be GTG.
I check the hamper where his clothes are. Nothing. I go back to his room and rant some more. Out to the Jeep and tear through the back. Nothing. Back inside for more ranting filled with responsibility metaphors and hyperbole. I again say a prayer to St. Anthony. I calm down, and call the Red Robin. With luck, someone will have found it and I will only have to make a three hour round trip back to Scranton though dense deer strewn woods to recover that flashlight. That’s right, I’m what you could politely call tenacious. People who know me just call me stubborn. Either way, if they have it, I will get that flashlight tonight!
I talk to the manager and explain the situation. He takes my number. Calls me back a few minutes later and… wait for it… NO flashlight. Says he will check with some staff that has already left for the night, but I know I will not hear from him again. That flashlight is long gone. Back out into the rain and I tear the back of the Jeep apart. Nada!
Now, those of you familiar with Wranglers know that the passenger seat folds forward for rear passenger access. As I slam the seat back to it’s normal position if total frustration, one of my better angles tells me to illuminate the front passenger floor. This is not where the little ones ride, but low and behold there is the flashlight. “SON OF A… !”
Back in I go. Felling like a heel. I give the kid back his light, tell everyone I’m sorry, and kiss them all goodnight. My son then says, “I remember know, I gave the flashlight to Mom before going in to eat because I didn’t want to lose it.” Wife blushes. Turns out my wife put it on the floor and forgot all about it. Doesn’t excuse my behavior, of course, but it does make it harder for her to ground me when she was the root cause of the problem. Back downstairs, I call the Red Robin manager Gary and tell him to call off the search, less he thinks one of his staff is being dishonest.
I consider myself to be fairly calm and docile most of the time, but I have my moments. I certainly did not handle this properly. I hope to be better tomorrow and all the days that follow. I hope that you other parents can take a moment the next time something like this happens in your world and laugh at my ridiculous behavior, smile, then work the crisis less frustrated and angry than I did.
Good luck boys and girls. And remember, it is only a flashlight.