Year of the Dog

Yesterday I went to the Chinese New Year parade downtown - dragon dancers, red banners, drums, and lots of people throwing poppers in the street. The crowds lining the street were five and six people deep, and the windows of restaurants and shops overlooking the parade route were packed with people watching. After the parade, everyone spilled into the street and milled around while they set up a giant six-story string of firecrackers suspended from a crane.

As we were waiting for them to light the firecracker, we suddenly heard some commotion behind us. I turned around and a man was saying "My son! Where's my son?!" He was staring around frantically. A few people asked, "What does your son look like?" but the man was so distraught he seemed incapable of answering. He cried out, "He was right here, right here beside me!" I glanced around but there were no little kids in sight, just a forest of grown-ups. Someone asked, "What color coat was he wearing?" "I don't know!" the father said. "He was right here! Oh my God, my son!!" He started dashing back and forth, wild-eyed. His face looked like a caricature, his mouth wide open like he wanted to bawl. His terror communicated itself to me so completely that I started feeling sick. I could see that his mind was already leaping ahead to encompass the magnitude of the tragedy - his son was lost; someone had taken him; he was one of the thousands of kids that go missing every year; the rest of this man's life would be looking back in regret and horror at these few minutes that were transpiring before us right now, this critical time.

Someone grabbed the father and said, "What's your son's name?" "Sammy!" the man replied. "SAMMY!" he suddenly bellowed. He plunged back and forth, yelling, "SAMMY!" A few other people called "Sammy" halfheartedly, but most turned their attention back to the firecracker preparations. "Think: what color coat was he wearing?" someone asked again. Next to me, my mother murmured, "No. What kind of shoes is he wearing. Whoever takes him will take that coat off first thing." Her comment made me feel sicker - the father and I weren't the only ones thinking, not just lost, but taken. "Blue!" the father burst out finally. "It was blue!" A few people nearby scanned around looking for blue.

Just then the firemen arrived, and the dragon dancers started beating their drums. The crowd gave a cheer of pleasure. Their happiness formed a counterpart to the father's desperation - just like all those classic movie scenes that blend a giddy amusement park atmosphere with sinister and terrible things. His cries of "Sammy!" were harder to hear over the drums and cheering. He tried to push through the crowd, but people were surging closer to the firecracker and wouldn't let him through.

Finally, just before they lit the firecracker, he found Sammy. We saw him hurrying past holding his son, a little boy who looked about four years old, in his arms. His face was still crumpled with grief, but the crowd clapped when they saw him. I swallowed the tears that were piled up in my throat. Sometimes, I'm afraid to have kids.