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The problem is, he’s the most like me. The one who forgets things and gets lost in books and is easily sidetracked.

He’s the boy who loses stuff. Every time he participates in something, say camp or a youth rally or whatever, I place a little check in the box on the registration form that says, would you like to order a t-shirt for your child. And every time he comes home without said shirt. I’ve bought at least a dozen shirts which I assume are now in other boys’ closets.

He’s the boy who, when he changed bedrooms this spring, found a total of four hundred dollars squirreled away in drawers and forgotten coat pockets. Four hundred dollars he didn’t know he had!

He’s the boy who’ll eat an entire jumbo box of frozen waffles when he’s left alone for the weekend because it’s easier than cooking eggs or making a sandwich.

He’s the boy who goes upstairs to collect his laundry and comes down two hours later with a comment about the book he found under his dirty socks.

He’s the boy who shows up for work three hours early because he couldn’t remember what time he was supposed to start.

He’s the boy who, when he found his weeks-lost wallet, found inside it a crumpled months-old pay cheque.

This is my boy who, tomorrow, will be flying thousands of kilometres to a place I’ve never been. There are things to keep track of when a person travels. Luggage, tickets, passport, money. And because he’s so much like me, his questionable organizational abilities frighten me just a little.

So if you are reading this in Toronto or Amsterdam or Estonia sometime in the next couple of weeks and you see a tall, blonde, sweet-looking boy wandering the streets looking lost, please stop and offer some assistance.

His absent-minded mother will be forever thankful.

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