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September 25, 2001 - Tuesday
One morning a couple of weeks ago I couldn't find the car keys when it was time to take Harry to daycare. I remember it was a morning that I had a lot to do and was hoping to drop him off promptly and get to work. There is an everyday deadline of sorts for getting Harry to daycare before his provider walks her own children to the bus stop. If I don't get there before that, it's best if I wait another 20-25 minutes. But, the keys were not on the usual side table by the door, nor were they in the drawer below, nor were they in the slightly higher out-of-Harry's reach backup spot. I looked at the clock. I looked around round the room. Harry was ready to go, with shoes on and trying to open the door. I looked in the drawer again. I looked at the clock again. I started mumbling to myself. Harry was starting to get antsy. I remember a growing frustration on my part that I suspect is a common associate of lost car keys and as my anxiety reached a peak, I blurted out a very overt "Oh, shhh-oot."

Now, it probably doesn't take that clever a post-adolescent mind to imagine that I was a half a syllable away from a more colorful proclamation. I caught myself some time after the "sh" started with mental flashes of all of the colorful phrases I've heard little children say and the thought that Harry would hence join them. Sure enough, Harry was quick to pick up on my emphatic outburst and almost immediately started opening the drawers himself, continuously saying "oh shoot."

These days, Harry's mother and I are quite tickled by Harry's frequent exclamation of "oh shoot" and tonight it happened again. Harry started making believe he was looking for something: this time he stood with his fingers pawing through the books on a shelf. And, as he invariably does during these little mystery searches, Harry repeated "oh, shoot" to accentuate his pretended quest. It's harmless and indeed rather cute now, but its also a little humbling to know how close I came to a major parental blunder.


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