Old Truck
I lost my school keys last weekend. I know, an unremarkable event…is it worth writing about? Yes, because most of us lose stuff, and I’m curious to know if my experience of loss and recovery follows a common thread. Feedback is invited.
First off, it was a big deal. Those keys unlock my job—the doors I need to open, the locks that contain my classroom possessions, even a fob that accesses the entire school building. I carry two sets of keys, school and home. Since I was running a tennis tournament last Friday, I wasn’t even going to take my school keys, but I remember grabbing them at the last second.
And that’s the last I remember of them. I didn’t even discover the loss until Monday morning as I’m ready to go out the door to begin another week of school. A momentary sense of panic…a cursory examination of all the obvious places…the sinking realization that I don’t have time to look…contingency plans… (a floating teacher shares my room first period—he’ll unlock the door—I have JV Tennis first period—I keep my tennis keys on my home ring—I’ll be okay)…and a 25 minute drive to work wracking my brain on where the hell those damn keys might be.
I checked all the possible places at work even though logic told me they couldn’t possibly be there because I hadn’t been to school since the last time I had them. My car—oh, I fine-tooth combed my car. The tennis facilities where I had been running the tournament—I was a bloodhound searching for a lost soul. Nothing.
I enlisted my wife’s aid when I got home. My wife (who has been known to misplace a thing or two herself) was the model of cooperation. We went through the clothes I might have been wearing…lifted chair and sofa cushions and checked the crevices…re-searched all the places I had already searched. Nothing.
Then came the cross-examination, also known as retracing your steps. A breakfast sandwich and a cup of coffee on the way (why would I give the drive thru lady my keys?)…didn’t go anywhere all day, I was running a tournament…drove a kid home from the tournament (could they be in his tennis bag?)…stopped at an ATM, paid a bill. Did same for Saturday and Sunday. Nothing.
After the cross-examination, we prayed. God knew where the keys were. That was followed by a search of the places it would be impossible for the keys to be—under the bed…in a jewelry box we never open…in the planters on the back porch. Nothing.
Here’s the thing about losing stuff that you need: it worries you about your mind. You start to think that you move through your days without being aware of what you’re doing, that your actions might not follow any logical pattern, and that you won’t be able to remember what you did anyway. Is this a genetic predisposition or the first step toward Alzheimer’s? It occurred to me that on Friday I had taken a crumpled up fast food bag and bet one of my tennis girls a peanut butter sandwich that I could toss it into a trash can 20 feet away. I noticed the bag had a good heft to it. I made the shot. Could my school keys be sitting in a crumpled paper bag in a landfill right at this moment?
Because I never did find them. On Thursday I went in to my vice-principal in charge of keys and confessed my transgression. She was surprisingly understanding and compassionate, and she only took a few cheap shots. I got the keys I needed and I think they’re even going to get me a new fob!
I’m left with a mild crisis of faith. I prayed believing (or, at least, trying), and my prayer went unanswered. What went wrong? I suspect I’m being moved beyond my God-as-vending machine conception (make your selection, put in your coins, and press). But it does gnaw at me that those keys, right now, at this very moment, are setting somewhere on this green earth. I wonder where they are?
“Tony Tony , turn around, something’s lost that must be found.” A Catholic child’s prayer to St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost things.
Loved this line:“Then came the cross-examination, also known as retracing your steps. ” Beautifully put and so true.
I share all of your experience…even to the point of it being my school keys. I found them, eventually, deep inside the toe of a tennis shoe that was also in the bag which I had searched (the bag, not the show) repeatedly. You’ll find them. Or your lesson will be the recognition of the well-deserved faith that your administration has in you that led them to be gracious and not punitive. As for the crisis of faith, hmmmm.…how do I say this lovingly. Let’s pray that this will be the biggest challenge you ever have to your faith. This is do-able. The vending machine metaphor is good. Go with it :) xo
btw — this makes me realize how long-winded my bolgs are! They started as chapters of a book…maybe that’s the problem!
oh i laughed out loud on this. well spoken! seems like i go through these same order of events with my husband the art professor every few months. the latest episode happened earlier this week. this time i moved the prayer part up just past the initial search phase. not sure if it helped speed up the finding of the item, but i confess it did seem to bring me a strange peace that we would find it. too bad it doesn’t always work that way!
oh, julie, thank you! so glad to know we aren’t the only spousal union struggling through this. (still haven’t found the damn keys)
p.s.–never a bad strategy to move the prayer part up.
To me it’s just more proof that those nasty little ghosts, poltergeists, or whatever you want to call them exist! We all know that keys don’t just get up and walk away. and we don’t hide them behind or under things when we put them down. Call me crazy, but I’ve stopped blaming myself when things turn up missing. Let others blame me for being forgetful, absent minded, or just not caring. They simply don’t know any better. It’s the ghosts!
When I was in the army, I learned about this lesson the hard way. I was an assistant gunner for an M‑60 gun crew. During war games, I was tasked with walking around with what amounted to a 140 lb. ruck sack, of which some mission critical gear was at the top and easy to get to. After a long day (anything past 20 hours is a long day), I was slogging with my platoon through the swamps of Ft. Polk, when I lost the spare barrel for my gun. (Yes, you can call an M‑60 a gun. That’s what it is…)
Difference being, I was lucky enough that we stopped our movement for the night, and upon gear check, I found the loss. Downside, so did my squad leader. And my platoon sergeant. And then I was in for a very motivational speech for finding said spare barrel despite bone aching weariness.
Over my years, as a result, I’ve become a creature of good habits. I place things hiking in much the same places that I do in everyday life. I have a “ready” space for my keys and wallet and Nook in the house, and when I get home they go back there.
On those odd occasions where my habits fail, luckily my wife has an excellent eye for detail, and a memory sharp enough to cut glass. Even more in my favor, she Knows my habits. She’s able to deduce, or at least considerably narrow, the possible location for item X.
I think your keys will turn up. It’s a matter of time. Life has a sense of humor like that.
scott — sound to me like you have a good wife. hold on to her. (still haven’t found me keys.)
Oh Malmy,
If only I was still your tennis manager, that would have never happened. :)
oh, julie, thank you! so glad to know we aren’t the only spousal union struggling through this. (still haven’t found the damn keys)
p.s.–never a bad strategy to move the prayer part up.
bob — total believer in the ghosts.…would you mind reposting this to my wife?
michelle — i agree w/ you entirely. would you please come back? i have an opening for tennis manager. the pay isn’t much, but i’ll take you to college station w/ the team!