"MA'AM! WE HAVE YOUR SON"

Nine at the time ... I do believe Calvin was 9 years old when the cop called.

First some background.

We were a family of six -- two parents and four boys.   Mitch had not so long ago passed away due to his birth defects.  Darling hubby had been driving a semi-truck.  As I was raising these young boys I thought they needed to know how to tie knots, have survival skills, and get experiences from male leaders that Boy Scouts could provide.

Rusty and Calvin were then enrolled in Boy Scouts.  Often I felt harried -- in a hurry with much to do.  So this evening, already dark outside, I'd left the supper mess behind, bundled up the boys, Calvin in his blue scout uniform, and grabbed up all the needs for a toddler, and rushed to town to church to his meeting place.  The usual typical cars were there.  Through the plate glass doors I thought I recognized some of the men standing around, so into the building Calvin went, and off I drove.

An hour later a county sheriff calls.

"Mrs. Bays?"

"Yes."

"We have your son."

Okay, take a moment here, experience this to the fullest.  A cop is on the other end of the phone line, he has your son, your little boy who might be scared,  but you've been feeling warm and comfortable in your home, yet now your hubby is looking at you with big questioning eyes.  "Zing" your mind races off!  No, you don't.  The boys are here.  Isn't Calvin at Scouts?  Which son?  Who could he have?  Has he been hurt?  Why does a cop have my son?  What happened to him?  Did someone molest my son?  What do I do now?  Where is he?  Someone's prank calling.  Do I recognize this voice?  Could this be a trick?  Are they carting him off to juvenile detention?  Why would they?  He's just a little boy!

"Ma'am!"  This strident, deep male voice is commanding attention.  "Do you want to come and get him or do you want us to bring him to you?"

I look at darling hubby, dear John, trying to convey with my wide eyes and stammering lips what the cop is asking, hoping John will give me the answer.

It turns out the meeting had been cancelled, those men were there for something else.  Calvin didn't think to use the church phone, he thought he knew how to get home.  A passing motorist had seen a little bobbing head in the corn field and called 911.

Calvin told us that the bridge he was looking for, the one halfway between the church and our house, was a lot further away than he thought.

Again, the sheriff's voice ricochets in my head, it insists I pay attention to him.
"Ma'am!  DO YOU WANT TO COME AND GET HIM OR DO YOU WANT US TO BRING HIM TO YOU?"

"I'll come there.  Where do I go?"

We arrived at the corner of two roads, where the witness car and a sheriff's car were parked on the shoulder with red and blue lights flashing their warning.  It was heart stopping to see little Calvin sitting in the back seat.  Thank the Good Lord he was safe.

"Ma'am!  We have your son.  He's all right."