“Success is a journey, not a destination. The doing is often more important than the outcome.” - Arthur Ashe
“Ya, you know, that whole ‘doing-outcome’ thing is nice and all. But it’s not really enough for you just to look for your shoes. You actually have to find them. Really. Like, now. Right now. Instantly.” - A father. Any father.
I love my children.
Really, I do. I would die for them. I would donate any of my internal organs, including the ones I don’t have functioning duplicates of, for them. I realize, as a parent, I’m not unique in this sentiment, but I want to get it out there, because what follows may cast doubt on that.
Because they’re killing me.
Little by little, inch by inch, day by day. They should have come with a warning label, like cigarettes. One of these days I’m just going to drop over in the middle of a rant, and it’s all going to be on them.
Or the bacon. But probably them. Because they just … can’t … find … anything.
Now I want to stop right here and acknowledge, that, yes, the Lovely Mrs.
Smith and I have our own issues with losing things.
That’s to a large degree because we have a lot more things to fi nd, includingmost of our children’s stuff .
We also forget things, but that’s because we have a lot more things to remember, including where our children put the stuff they can’t find but have to have.
And that’s the key, really.
It’s not losing things. It’s losing things that matter.
Things that will get you a good grade or off a naughty list or out of that phone call that has “bad parent” written all over it.
Anyone can lose a pen.
My kids lose their pens because they lost their backpacks, which had all their expensive textbooks, checks for their lunch money, their picture order forms and my iPod in one of them. It’s kind of their version of “if you’re going to go, go big.”
The Lovely Mrs. Smith and I have been observing all this for so long, we can produce a guide to losing things successfully.
Step 1 - Ignore your parents’ repeated requests to gather whatever it is you’re going to need in a convenient place. It helps ifyou roll your eyes and say “IknowIknowIknow.”
Fills us with confi dence and love.
Step 2 - Realize, moments before you have to leave, that you don’t know where something is.
Walk around the house, looking for it. Begin by acting nonchalant, like you haven’t really perused the old homestead in a bit, and you’d just like the chance to admire the architecture and the view from the back windows.
Become increasingly frantic until you are literally tearing the place apart before admitting the obvious.
Step 3 - Blame someone.
Anyone. Siblings, the dog, your parents. Doesn’t matter. Someone moved the very thing you so lovingly and carefully laid out. Voice your suspicion that someone broke into the house, went right past the electronics, jewelry and silverware and nabbed the borrowed copy of “To Kill a Mockingbird” you have to have for school today.
It makes perfect sense, because it’s so much easier and lucrative to fence a used paperback than a 32-inch TV.
Step 4 - Become philosophical. It’s going to be OK. There are more important things to worry about. Besides, you can just get another (fill in theblank). Which is to say, we, your parents can. Because you don’t have any money.
Or you could mow lawns all summer while selling plasma and magazine subscriptions door to door and not have enough to pay for that “special” capable-oflaunching-the-space-shuttle calculator you had to have for class. And lost.
At this time it’s worth noting the thing they believe is so easy to replace was actually special ordered as part of a limited set at great expense, produced by monks in Switzerland, took six weeks to get and cost about as much as a Maserati. And “getting another one” involves doing all that all over again, or driving to and from Cleveland. Before 7th period. Today.
Step 5 - Delay, delay, delay. Say you probably left it in your locker. Or at a friend’s house. Or in your classroom. Or somewhere else. You see, it’s really not lost if it’s just some place you can’t get to.
Step 6 - Wait. They’ll forget. They’re old. And you’ve done it so much, it’s starting to blend together, anyway.
Like I said earlier, I love my children. But, to paraphrase the old adage, of all the things they’ve lost, I’ll miss my mind the most.
GARY SMITH IS A RECOVERING JOURNALIST LIVING IN ROGERS.
Opinion, Pages 5 on 11/14/2013