When I was 4 years old, living in Kansas City, Missouri during the early 1950’s, my father took me with him to downtown Kansas City to shop for Christmas gifts. This was when America was safe, but this story will make you wonder about my safety and have you questioning my young Dad’s parenting skills or wisdom. By my best estimate my father had just turned 25 years old when this story took place.
Dad drove into downtown Kansas City with me riding in front passenger’s seat. Cars didn’t have seat belts back then and I was not sitting in a child’s seat. In fact, I don’t recall us ever owning a child’s seat. According to Wikipedia, “It was not until 1962 that two designs with the purpose of protecting a child were developed independently.” My story takes place just days before Christmas in 1952.
Dad found a parking space about 90 feet across the street from the front entrance of a large department store. I recall it being built between two streets that merged, with one street merging into the street we were parked on, forming a triangle where the two streets came together. The department store was built in the large triangle between the two streets, thus the store was much wider at its rear end and came to almost a flat or bobbed-off point on the end of the store facing our car (i.e., the front of the store). The main entrance to the store was on that small end of the building, set roughly 30 to 35 feet back from where the two streets came together.
Once he parked the car, Daddy told me, “Buddy, I’m only going into the store for a few minutes. I’m going to crack the windows slightly and lock the doors, whatever you do, don’t get out of the car, even if I take a little longer than I’m planning. I’ll hurry and be back in no time at all.” I agreed and watched him angle and dart his way across the street towards the busy store entrance, which was across the street at roughly a 45-degree angle from our car.
Once Daddy disappeared into the store I got nervous and restless as pedestrians walked quickly by in the brisk early winter air, each gawking and staring at me as they walked by. Not very long after Dad went into the store I got a very uneasy feeling that soon translated to the heightened state of a kid about to panic. The street was busy with traffic and the sidewalk we were parked next to continued to have a steady stream of foot traffic. The longer I sat in the car the more people would stare at me with questionable and curious looks on their faces, making me feel even more uncomfortable.
Eventually, minutes began to feel like hours, and Daddy was nowhere in sight. I was becoming more restless by the minute. I quickly concluded that my father was lost, and that I needed to find and rescue him. Besides, I wanted to see what he was buying and whether the store had any toys or not. So being the Curious George that I am, I disobeyed his orders and got out of the car.
As I walked around the front of our car (and behind the car parked in front of us), an older man that was walking down the sidewalk quickly darted in between the two cars to grab my hand, leaned over and ask me where I was going and where were my parents. When I gave him a quick synopsis about me trying to find my lost father, he told me I needed to get back in the car and lock the doors, where I would be safe. He explained it was very dangerous for me to try and cross a busy street with cars flying up and down it in both directions. He walked me back around the car to the passenger side door, put me back in the car, closed the door, told me to lock up and stay put. As soon as he felt I was safely in the car he walked away.
Once the man was out of sight I was even more convinced that my father was lost and I needed to save him. So I got out of the car again, walked back between our car and the car in front of us, looked for an opening in the traffic and ran across the street. A brave undertaking for a toddler my age, but a scared one nonetheless that wanted to find his lost father.
I can still recall not being able to open the large glass entrance door to the department store because it was too heavy. I waited until someone came through the door and I darted inside the store. I started walking around the store calling out my Dad’s name, while being overwhelmed by the enormity of the store and mesmerized by the high shelves that were chocked full of products.
As I was walking down the very first aisle I soon found myself in the toys section, when BAM!!!!, I spied the main Christmas present on my wish list, the one I had prayed for weeks would be the gift that Santa’s elves would make and he would deliver to me on Christmas. It was a Robin Hood bow and arrow set with rubber tipped arrows and the toy of all toys that every boy wanted — the famous Robin Hood “whistling” arrow. All the arrows in the quiver were the rubber tipped variety (like the one I shot my sister with after removing the rubber tip), except for one arrow that had a large crimson colored plastic attachment on the end of the arrow. That attachment (shown above) made a whistling noise when the arrow traveled through the air. It was all the rage on TV commercials that year, and I had seen the commercial numerous times while watching the Howdy Doody Show.
While fixated on the Robin Hood whistling arrow, perched on the very top shelf, I momentarily forgot about Dad. Men and women were walking by, with several occasionally asking me if I was lost. I would tell them, “No mam, or no sir, I’m not lost, my Dad is lost.” Little did I know that Daddy had paid for the gifts he had purchased and walked down a different aisle to exit the store. We had been in the store together for just a few short minutes before he exited. I continued to walk around the store looking for him. Meanwhile, he had arrived back at the car and found me missing. Dad was never one to handle stress very well. When he found me missing he lost it. Panic and a mix of emotions set in as he worried if I had been kidnapped or opted to get out of the car on my own and became lost.
After I got older he and Mom told me that Daddy was running frantically up and down the sidewalk asking people if they had seen a little boy. Of course the folks on the sidewalk were totally different people than the ones who had seen me before. Eventually, he spotted a policeman, flagged him down and told him his son was missing. Being calmer and of sounder mine, the policeman suggested they look in the store first before they alerted other authorities.
When they came into the store I was still wandering aimlessly around looking for my Dad. As I came around the corner of an aisle Dad and the policeman were on, Daddy spotted me and ran down the aisle towards me, scooping me up in his arms and asking me if I was okay. I simply responded, “Yes Daddy, I’ve been looking for you because you were lost. I’m glad I found you.” He was so happy to see me, people gathered around us as he hugged me and said we needed to get home. I tried to tell him there was a Robin Hood Whistling Arrow in the store but he was still choked up and just wanted to get me safely back in the car and pray I wasn’t going to tell Mom what happened.
All was well walking back to the car, but when we got back in the car he was hammering me with questions, asking me why I got out of the car (“Because you got lost Daddy”), why I didn’t stay locked in the car (“Because you got lost Daddy”), yada, yada, yada.
As we drove home and his nerves began to settle down he went into a lecture about not minding him, then told me I would have to be punished for not following his orders. His tune and demeanor changed very quickly once we arrived home and I told Mom what had happened. She lit into his butt about leaving me alone in a big city and Dad never mentioned my punishment phase again. Yes, at the young age of four, I had already learned how to manipulate the parenting system in the Whitley household.
I realize how in today’s scary world what my Dad did would result in an arrest and fine for child neglect. For anyone 50 or younger you cannot visualize how we lived in a world during the fifty’s where you did not have to lock your doors and windows at night, where it was fairly commonplace for people to leave their kids in a car temporarily.
I’m not saying what my father did was right, but at the time he was a 25-year old country boy living in a big city that seemed just as safe to him as the small country town where he grew up. I’ve never felt the need to forgive him because I’ve never blamed him for any wrongdoing. I understand that times were different then, and I still recall how trusting both he and Mom were of me, because I wasn’t the type of kid to take many chances until much later, when I was in high school.
I’ve really never focused on what my Dad did was wrong when when recalling this story often over the years. Because I’m a father of four I can easily imagine the helplessness and panic he felt when he went back to the car and I wasn’t there.
In telling this story several times during my life I’ve never once thought of it as a lesson in bad parenting. Looking back on the matter now, I think my Dad was young, native and likely truly believed he could just run in for a minute and I would mind him as I always did at that age.
Each time I’ve ever reflected back on that day I’ve always viewed it as just another funny “Craig story,” one in which I opted to take charge at a young age and go save my lost Daddy. It was a story about how kid’s can often make decisions and do unexpected things that drive their parent’s crazy.
Until now, anytime I’ve ever told the story, what my Dad did or didn’t do was never the focus. It was always about the cute thought of a little guy like me trying to find his lost Dad. Looking back I know in my heart it was a learning experience and horrible lesson that my Dad had to live through that helped shape how protective he was over my sister and I for the remainder of our childhood.