Although misplacing my nine-year-old son has become a commonplace experience, it is nonetheless still unsettling.
The first time, he was eighteen months old, in the yard playing one moment, and nowhere the next. I found him in the dark garage — the second time I looked — shuffling amidst the dangerous-to-a-toddler bikes, laundry detergent, old paint.
Now he’s nine, and when he is “lost” it’s usually because he is trying to be. READ MORE