Lost but Not a Loss

Day 138

It’s 8:30 on Saturday morning but F’s excitement over getting fitted for lacrosse gear is contagious.  We’re moving.  We’re on a mission.   

We pull into the senior high school parking lot and easily find a spot.  It’s only because we've been here before.  For the past several weeks, coaches have hosted skill clinics in the back gym.  It’s been a great introduction to new players on the basics.  


Today they'll pass out gear for the season.  They’ve staggered today’s fittings to ensure it moves smoothly. 

The boys jump out of the car and start to sprint.  My words stop them in their tracks.    

“Boys, can you please pick up some trash on the way to the door?” 

My requests are meet with a series of moans but being good boys, they heem and haw but ultimately do as I ask.  By the time we get to the side gym door, each boy has two fistfuls of trash.  F. thinks he’s found a love letter and reads it to us in a sing-song, high-pitched voice.  It’s comedy at its finest. 

Dumping the trash, we’re back to why we’re here.  Helmets!  Shoulder pads!  Awesomeness!  We run to the back gym, swing open the door, and find…baseball players tossing balls.  Uh, baseball?  I double check the door.

“Boys?” I start.  “Do you happen to know where the lacrosse folks are?” 

The teens look to each other and communicate in shrugs and lifted eyebrows.  “Maybe upstairs?” 

We head upstairs where we find more…baseball players.  We check out the cafeteria.  It’s filled with not lacrosse players but Cub Scout leaders. 

“Mooom,” F. whines.  “Where are they?” 

Well, ain’t that the million dollar question?  “Let’s try upstairs.”  We’ve been hunting for nearly 30 minutes and running out of time.     

When we strike out upstairs, I give up and call one of the clinic coaches at home. His wife is a book club friend and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that they’re home.  She answers on the fourth ring. 

 

“Boys!  They’re at the junior high.”   

By this time, we’ve walked the length of the school.  It’s closer to exit through the school’s front doors than to walk back the way we came. 

Out the door, we’ve now got to rush to make it to the fitting before it ends.  But I can’t stand all the trash. 

“Grab and go!  Grab and go!”  The boys know what to do.  They skip and jump around the school, across the parking lot towards our car, picking up trash the entire way.

Trying to find the positive, I tell myself at least our getting lost wasn’t a total loss.