In retrospect, thinking back to what he observed yesterday morning, my husband now thinks that the little boy was attempting to punish himself. Perhaps thinking in his emotionally immature years that somehow, magically, making himself suffer would transform future events, make them benign, lessen the chance that he would be punished in familiar, miserably unhappy ways.

Emerging from his vehicle in the parking lot of the close by Canadian Tire store, my husband's attention was immediately taken by the sight of a small boy, alone, standing beside a van, a belt around his neck. Looking at the van, hoping to see an adult emerge, he realized the little boy was alone. He walked the few steps over to where the child was standing, all the while imagining that his parents would be along in a minute or two, that the little boy had preceded them back to the family vehicle.

My husband asked the little boy whom he judged to be around six, whether he needed any help. No, he didn't said the child, swiftly pulling the belt loose from the knot he'd tied it in around his neck, so he could pull it over his head. I'm lost, said the little boy when my husband asked where his parents were. Don't worry, responded my husband, you wait here, I'll go into the store and look for your parents. His father only, said the child; he was with his father and his sister and he got lost.

It's easy enough for anyone to get distracted walking through the store. The aisles are thick with interesting objects, crowded with shoppers, and seem to go on forever intersecting with other aisles. Little wonder a child would get dis-attached from a parent intent on searching out a product he was interested in buying. It's difficult even for a height-impaired adult like me to see over the tops of the aisles.

Another car drew up, inside an older couple.

When the driver disembarked he asked if there was a problem, so my husband explained. The other man offered that he and his wife would remain beside the boy while my husband entered the store. When he approached the service desk he could see that the young woman on call was busy with another customer. Standing silently beside the man was a young girl, about twelve. In her hand the microphone for the public address system, and he heard her ask for a name. The name the man stated, standing beside the customer service representative was the name that the child had given my husband.

My husband immediately intervened, turning to the man to tell him his son was fine. He was standing, waiting for him, beside the car; commenting how clever the little fellow was, finding himself lost and unable to find his father and sister, deciding to wait out in the parking lot where he knew were the car was since that was where he reasoned his father would end up. The man completely ignored my husband. With the first words locating his son, his face had hardened, he jerked his daughter toward him, and made off for the parking lot, my husband following, trying to assure the man his son was fine.

Before they arrived at the spot where the child was waiting, the older couple beside him, the man spotting his boy, called out to him loudly, angrily. The boy looked hesitantly at the couple beside him, at my husband, and ran toward his father. The man pulled his son's hand roughly, shaking his small body then turned abruptly, children in close tow, back toward the store. Where his purchases remained, waiting to be paid for.

Not a word to my husband, nor to the couple. The dismay on the child's face as he joined his father and sister will undoubtedly be one long remembered by all three.

My husband, turning to the couple who had obligingly kept the little boy company, said he'd better not think of buying a lottery ticket today. The other two shrugged, their faces as puzzled as my husband's, the parting word something about having fulfilled the day's good deed.