When I Saw Panic In the Father’s Eyes I Started to Run

I heard them before I saw them

A trio of high-pitched giggles was bubbling up behind me and seemed to be gaining fast. The sound was joyful. The quality of laughter that can only come from a young and carefree child whose greatest stresser in life is trying to make a boom-boom on demand.

I looked over my shoulder and saw three little boys, tres niños as they say in México. Trills of laughter poured out of them as they fed off each other’s energy. They swirled and bounced along the sidewalk: one stumbling forward, the other pushing sideways, another pulling back. Despite all the zigging and zagging, they moved steadily forward, outpacing the afternoon dog walkers strolling along the old sidewalk leading to the shore of Lake Chapala.

After they passed me, I noticed they occasionally looked backward and squealed with a little extra delight.

So I looked backward too

About 20 feet behind me, I saw two young men. They were 30-ish, each pushing a clunky old stroller with a baby tucked inside. The men seemed quite determined in their stride as they sternly began to call out to the boys.

“Carlos! Javier! Diego!”

I looked ahead and saw that the boys thought it was a game. It was just the three of them a moment ago, but now they were being chased by their fathers too.

How fun!

The horseplay began to look less like swirling and a lot more like running now that the chase was on. I looked back again and saw the distance between the men and the toddlers was growing, and I began to feel a little uneasy.

I looked forward and then looked back again. Now there was only one father behind me and I could see he was struggling with the stroller on the crumbling sidewalk. In the corner of my eye, I registered that the other father had diverted his stroller onto the street, trying to gain some advantage from the smoother asphalt. The distance between the boys and their fathers began to increase at an alarming rate.

As I turned my head forward I knew the three boys were oblivious to the danger looming ahead. They were heading directly toward the malecón of Chapala.

Danger ahead

In México, a town on the water often has what is known as a malecón. It is a waterfront park and walkway; a place where locals can stroll and gather to enjoy a cool breeze, take a taco and a beer, and enjoy a view of the water. It is an important and traditional part of the social fabric of a waterfront Mexican community.

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A charming and authentic town of about 25,000, Chapala is also a weekend getaway for the 5 million residents of nearby Guadalajara. It is situated on Lake Chapala, México’s largest fresh-water lake. Its malecón is a lovely park with calming mountain views and is home to dozens of hundred-year-old trees filled with screaming birds. And on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, it would be packed.

The malecón of Chapala is not a dangerous place, per se. Quite the contrary, it is filled with families, dogs, vendors, skaters, performance artists, mariachis, and lots of food and drink. The danger on this day lies with the risk that a trio of toddlers might get scattered amongst the mélange of several hundred strangers.

I looked back at a panicked face

As the boys neared the bustling malecón the father’s eyes were filled with alarm and I knew what I had to do. I had to step into his shoes and do what he could not. I knew he could not chase the three boys and leave the stroller behind. “Sophie’s Choice” was not happening today.

It was up to me.

I had two jobs to do. First, I had to stop the boys before they got to the malecón where the crowd could envelope them and split them up. Then, I needed to dig deep into my shallow high school Spanish and communicate with these Mexican four-year-olds on their level that would make them understand that the game was over!

I felt a slight jolt of adrenaline, and I started to run.

I’m no Usain Bolt, but with their stubby little legs, it didn’t take much effort to close the gap. In about five seconds I had passed them. When I got about 10 feet in front of them, I launched into a flying 180° turn. It wasn’t graceful but I stuck my landing like an Olympic gymnast. Dead center in front of them now, I spread my legs and crouched like a sumo wrestler and threw my arms into the air to make myself into a giant starfish. And I yelled:

“ALTO!!! ALTO!!!”

The boys abruptly came to a dead stop and looked up at me with something between fear, confusion, and respect. And since I now had their full attention, I rolled with it. As I pointed back toward their fathers I yelled:

“TU PAPÁ!!! TU PAPÁ!!!”

Then re-assumed my giant starfish position to ensure they knew who the jefa was in that moment. I imagine their little Spanish thought balloons said something like:

“Who is this güera yelling at us and why is her Spanish qué mierda?”

Too stunned to do anything else, they stood with mouths agape as their fathers breathlessly closed in from behind.

“Gracias señora, mil gracias!”

“De nada, papá.”

A close call

Crisis averted, I walked onto the malecón to get a taco and a Paloma and to privately bask in the glow of my status as an unsung hero. Had those little boys been 20 feet farther down the sidewalk, the ending to this story might have been different.

Having never been a parent, I can only imagine the level of panic for those two fathers had they lost sight of their children in that crowded park.

Ultimately, it was merely a close call that these little boys were too young to ever remember. Except perhaps some unexplained giant starfish nightmares they can suss out with a therapist someday.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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