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Fresh out of New York City, I arrived in Nashua, New Hampshire to babysit my two-year-old godson Chris while his parents vacationed in Aruba.
With little or no experience watching a toddler, not to mention the fastest kid in the Northeast, I embraced my task with high expectations.
Chris and I played games around the house. We walked outside in the yard and really seemed to enjoy each other’s company. It was a total joy spending time with this adorable little child with whom everyone fell madly in love.
To say I was overprotective is an understatement. I never let him get further than arm’s reach. Needless to say, I watched his every move. I took great pride in my ability to care for my godson.
After three days around the house, I decided I was comfortable enough to take Chris to the mall. I strapped him into his car seat and off we went. I told Chris that because he was no fan of strollers, he would have to hold my hand as we walked through the mall. He didn’t seem to have a problem with it.
Pride radiated from me as I walked through the huge mall holding Chris by the hand. I remember thinking how wonderful it must be to have children and experience new things together.
Suddenly, without a word of warning, Chris spotted something up ahead. He slipped his hand out of mine in split-second timing and took off with speed befitting an Olympic sprinter.
At the time, I was in good shape. I tore down the mall corridor after him, screaming at the top of my lungs. Chris sprinted with a smile etched across his face. Forgetting what he originally saw, this was now a game that he had a good chance of winning. I was not far behind until the unthinkable happened. I caught one of my three-inch heels and stumbled. I quickly rebounded, somewhat humiliated, cast off my shoes, and resumed pursuit.
A frantic plea echoed in the air. “Chris, please STOP!”
Chris slowed down, and within seconds I had him once again by the hand. I couldn’t be mad at him. He was just too cute, and I was too winded to speak.
With everyone staring, some laughing, we turned around and walked back, stopping only to retrieve my shoes.
Out of breath and disheveled, we left the mall. When we reached the car, I opened the door while holding Chris by the hand. I put him in his car seat and closed the back door. The fear of losing my brother and sister-in-law’s only child chilled me to the bone.
I went to get in the front seat. “Oh my God,” I screamed. The door was locked.
How I locked the car by closing the rear door is a mystery to this day. I looked inside the car and saw my purse with the keys next to a smiling Chris in the car seat.
The positioning of the car seat made it impossible for Chris to reach the button to open the door. Panic set in. Not only did I almost lose my godson in a mall, he was now locked in a car.
I stayed by the car, but was not too embarrassed to loudly cry for help from absolute strangers.
“My godson is locked in the car,” I yelled. “Please help me.” A crowd formed as I pointed out that the keys were in the back seat next to Chris.
A nice young man came over to offer his assistance. He must have thought I was crazy. I prayed he hadn’t just seen us sprinting through the mall.
He had some type of tool that immediately opened the front door of the car.
I was eternally grateful for the act of kindness. If help had not arrived as quickly as it did, my sister-in-law’s car would have been missing a window.
Throughout the entire ordeal Chris sat in the back seat waving at everyone with a huge smile.
Chris is now in his thirties with a two-year-old son named Carter.
Please don’t ask me to take him to the mall. |
