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Homeland Security

September 2, 2003

At age five I had a blankee that went everywhere with me. I slept with blankee, held onto blankee in the car seat, cuddled with it (him?) in front of the TV. Blankee was very thin, but woven of soft, powder-blue cloth.

One day my father took me along for his Saturday morning errands (which wasn't uncommon) and headed first toward our bank, The Five, (which wasn't uncommon). I sat on a sterile bench at the front of the bank, waiting for dad to finish his business with the teller. I'm sure I flopped and rolled around a little, surrounded by strange sounds, lights, and oddly arranged railings. Before long, I accepted a new lollipop and followed my father outside to his Vovlo, (or was it the silver Accord?) and together we continued on.

A nice Saturday, as usual. But later, back at my house, I COULDN'T FIND BLANKEE ANYWHERE. I freaked, and my parents freaked out on my behalf. I cried and cried. Life on this planet ceased to exist in terms that could be understood by mankind. Eventually we made some calls, hunted around town, and returned to our sterile bank. They had filed Blankee in the "Box for the Lost Items of Freaked-Out Kids of Our Loyal Customers".

I didn't need much to feel secure in those days, I guess. Apparently Blankee is still in my parents' attic somewhere. And I think my brother still has his corresponding fluffy yellow version, which originally belonged to me. I hear he takes it to class. What a baby.

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