When our son Seth saw the Jurassic park-themed playarea in Orlando Florida’s Islands of Adventure, he stood in awe with eyes wide, mouth agape, mesmerized by the size and sheer coolness of the netted wonderland. There were various levels and climbing areas, little nooks, bridges, stairs, and water guns — a five-year-old boy’s version of heaven. He burst forth excited to explore the new terrain. My husband Marc ran after him as I took photos of the two.
After wandering around, I saw a boy of 8ish. He was calling out for his mom with the woeful tone of a lost kitten. He looked at me and burst into tears. After helping him find his mom, (which took about 10 minutes) I went back to find Marc.
I heard him call my name. As I ran into him, he asked, “Have you seen Seth?”
“No,” I said dumbly. “I thought he was with you.”
I soon realized the whole time I was trying to find this child’s parents, my own son was missing.
We started our search — both calling out Seth’s name. I stayed calm. I found the highest point in the castle-type playarea. I looked around. I couldn’t find him. I kept yelling out his name, “Seth. Seth. Seeeettttthhhh.” It was a big playland. I searched a new area. And then another. And then another. At one point, I saw Marc on the level directly under me.
“Have you found him yet,” I asked.
Marc’s stricken expression spoke volumes.
While Marc checked out another area, I searched near the entrance. I climbed more ropey-type areas, looked in more little cubby areas, all the while bleating out my little boy’s name.
At one point, I saw my husband walking on a sidewalk. Alone. This is when I lost it. An image of our smiling little boy with the word “Missing” across the top came to mind. High profile missing children cases inundated my memory. I started bawling. I started trying to ask people if they had seen a little blond boy with an orange shirt. But I was crying so hard I couldn’t even speak. I started thinking, “at this moment, there might be a strange man trying to direct my child through the crowds and out of this park with plans to rape and kill him.”
At some point, I got myself together enough to find a park attendant and report my son missing. He couldn’t leave his station so I had to wait a few minutes for another worker one to show up. When I told the second attendant my son was missing he said, “I just helped find a little boy who matches your description. His dad ended up finding him.”
He walked with me to where Seth and my husband stood. There, I knelt down next to Seth and was overwhelmed with big, heavy sobs. Seth’s expression was a mixture of confusion and horror.
The boy had made a fast friend while climbing. They decided to hide in a little nook — a space Marc and I had both passed countless times in our search. The boys didn’t even know they were missing. To them, it was a fun game of hide and seek — especially when they could hear one of us yelling, “Seth”.
While rounding a corner, Marc noticed a small foot sticking out of a little hidey-hole. That foot belonged to Seth’s new friend.
As the three of us left the playland, a dad who must have been watching the unfolding drama saw that we had found our child.
“You found him,” he said giving us two thumbs up.
“Yes,” I said with a sigh. “We did.”
Islands of Adventure has a plethora of restaurants that serve liquor. We soon found one such place. Marc ordered me a stiff drink to take the edge off. And then I had another. We had a long talk with Seth. I don’t think he fully understood the talk. And I’m sure he won’t understand the depths of the fear we faced until he has children of his own.
By the end of that second drink, I felt I could face the public again (at least without bursting into sobs). So we enjoyed some rides in the Dr Seuss section then went back to the hotel.
My child was only gone for a few minutes. And it was horrible. I can’t imagine the hell and anguish parents of missing children experience. My heart is with them even more so than what it was before.
And say what you will about those child leashes… I don’t know… These days they are sounding pretty darn good. And when he outgrows that, I may or may not, have some sort of gps tracker implanted into his skin.
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