Today’s parents must think it’s a minor miracle that we survived growing up in the 60’s. We didn't have car seats, helmets, floaties, sunscreen, or childproof caps. 

Instead of relying on electric outlet covers to keep us from poking knives or forks into them or fancy gadgets to keep us out of cupboards, we were told if we did, we’d either die instantly or be "smacked into the middle of next week." 

Obviously, we took the warnings seriously, because here we are, alive and well and buying up every possible gadget to keep our children and grandchildren from any harm. 

I can’t remember it ever being suggested that we wear a seat belt. Maybe our cars didn’t have seat belts. But the backseat was total mayhem. Whining or fighting got the "hand" reaching back and indiscriminately slapping everything in range. Today, kids ride in the car buckled into their own personal thrones, replete with cup holders and personal dvd players.

It was common to be left in the car while our moms went inside the mall, after all, they’d only be gone a few minutes. We tried keeping ourselves occupied—crouching down in the seats until a person walked behind us and then laying on the horn, laughing hysterically when they jumped out of their skins. Yelling out to other kids waiting in cars nearby, pretending to light cigarettes with the lighter, making up games to play—but it all got old pretty quickly. By the time our moms came out (looking like they could use a third arm to carry all the shopping bags) we'd be hot, sweaty messes. Today, what amazes me most is that we never once thought about stepping one foot out of that car.

Every time we went to the mall, we begged my mom to let us go in with her. We promised to be good. But alas, my brothers weren’t good at “being good.” They routinely knocked over displays, hid in the center of racks, raised the hackles of every clerk until my poor nerve-wracked mom would end up hustling us back to the car without accomplishing a thing.

Westland Mall used to have a giant bird cage. When my mom shopped there, Jeff and I begged to go in with her. We promised to stay at the cage and watch the birds the whole time.

“Can you promise not to let Craig get out of your sight?”

“Yes!” Jeff and I promised. 

And, like I’ve said, my mom knew I took my job of keeping an eye on Craig very seriously and she knew Jeff would never think of wandering off by himself. Besides, at five and three, Craig and I were each other's favorite playmates.

“Please, Mumma. We promise we won’t let Craig get away.”

We could tell when we were breaking her down. She sighed in resignation, “I guess. I only need to go into one store, so I’ll be quick.”

We couldn’t scramble out of the car fast enough. I took Craig’s little hand firmly in mine, “You have to stay right by us, okay?”

He agreed, trotting obediently beside me. 

“Don’t forget to keep a close eye on Craig,” my mom warned one last time before leaving us.

We stayed right there at the bird cage—pointing out the different birds, climbing up on the ledge, chasing each other around it--so happy to be in the mall rather than in the car.

And just as my mom promised, she was only gone a few minutes. 

“See, mumma? We stayed right here.”

My mom's eyes scanned the area, “Where’s Craig?”

I was positive he was on the other side of the cage. But he wasn’t.

“He has to be right around here,” Jeff assured her. “He was right here.”

We started calling for him, my mom getting more panicked by the second. She started crying, and when we found a mall cop she struggled through her tears to describe Craig…curly brown hair, brown eyes, a brown and white striped shirt. I can picture him to this day.

“Don’t you worry Ma’am. We’ll find him. Any minute now, someone will find a little guy crying for his mama, and bring him to us.”

“No! He won’t be crying,” my mom insisted. She knew Craig, he would be happily strolling around the mall, without a care in the world.

This time, it did take a long time to find him. My mom couldn’t stop crying, praying and mumbling to herself how she should have known better.

Jeff and I couldn’t fathom how he’d gotten away from us. 

After what seemed like an eternity, we found him acting as the elevator boy at Hudson’s. Happily pushing the buttons to get his passengers up and down from the restaurant.

It irked my mom that not a single person found it odd that a three-year-old child would be riding up and down the elevator by himself. Not a one asking him where his mother was.

But no one had, and once again my mom knelt down and clutched Craig tightly against her, sobbing in relief. And of course, per the usual, Craig started crying, too, “What are we crying about Mumma?”

We didn’t lose Craig again, that is not until 34 years later, when he left his mortal body and entered into the presence of the Lord.

“We live by faith, not by sight. We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord.”   2 Cor. 5:7-8