I’m going to tell a story here. First, does anyone remember Valentine’s Day? Feels like a different epoch, right? It was the night my family and I flew out of San Francisco (pictured) for Europe. Big vacation. 1/

Here’s my son the day before. He brought a roller bag of clothes and a Jansport backpack that held a laptop, an iPad, a $185 calculator issued by school, a year of handwritten calculus notes, several chargers, headphones and 5 or 6 cubes, among other things. 2/

I pause here to say I love him very much. 3/

I distinctly remember getting in the car at home on the way to the airport and my wife arguing with him about everything he was bringing. He insisted he needed it all. I shrugged. Here we are late the next night at the airport in Paris. It was late. 4/

We planned to take the train and metro into the city, but my niece, coming from Madrid, was waiting for us alone outside our Airbnb. I took a pic of the sign for taxis so we knew where to go and how much it would cost. 5/

We get to our place. Hugs for our niece. My wife pays the driver. He unloads our stuff. We meet the apartment owner and go inside and giddily catch up and choose beds and such. It’s about midnight. 6/

We go to bed. My son wakes me just after I fall asleep. “Dad, I can’t find my backpack.”
Yeah.
A mad scramble. You brought it in, right?! Is it out on the sidewalk? We didn’t leave it in the taxi?!
Yes. Yes, he did. 7/

It’s about 1:30 am on a Sunday morning. We paid cash and didn’t get a receipt. We don’t even know the name of the taxi company. My wife and niece start Googling and calling numbers. I mostly stare at my son, shaking my head. 8/

It’s Sunday morning now. We think about the driver. He seemed sketchy, right? Remember how he helped put the pack in? And there were other bags in there? And he unloaded and left fast? Hope his kids enjoy your stuff. Maybe they’ll get laptops and cubes for their birthdays. 9/

We go to L’Orangerie, see Monet’s water lillies. My kid loves the art museums. We eat, walk a million miles in the cold, stop by a police precinct where someone told us we should go to file a report. It’s closed. 10/

My wife and I go back to the room to relax. Here we are. (Kidding. Seeing if you’re still paying attention.) 11/

Next day. Someone tells us to go to a different precinct. We go there. The woman tells us to go to a different precinct. So we go there. Fun walking tour of Paris! 12/

They only let two of us in, so my daughter and I go to McDonald’s to wait. Good view. One hour. Two hours. It rains. It gets dark. Finally, the report has been filed. Police laughed at the prospects of us seeing the backpack again. 13/

On the walk back to our place, we stop inside Galeries Lafayette to see the dome. We’ve done all we can. It’s just, you know, material goods. They can be replaced. I’m almost ready to forgive my backpack-less son. We go on to have another great day in Paris. 14/

We take the train to Amsterdam. My wife and I are exhausted by it all. (I mean, just look at us.) I start smoking. 15/

Our son has a great time. He lives a carefree life without a backpack. He gets his first official beer. Meanwhile, I ponder my parenting skills and pause for some self-reflection. 16/

We come home. I tell the story, to all my friends who share my love for neckwear, because I know how much people love a) vacation stories, and b) mishap stories. A family member knows someone in Paris. Email me the police report, he says, and maybe she can check into it. Sure. 17

The backpack is (kind of) forgotten. My son tells teachers about the missing notes and calculator. He lives without his laptop. He steals all my chargers. He has plenty of other cubes. We adjust. Then, coronavirus. 18/

A million life changes while we’re quarantined. He turns 18. He decides on a college. He gets in a skatepark accident and gets his jaw wired shut. He graduates high school. 19/

And somewhere in all the quarantined chaos, an unexpected note from Paris: the backpack was turned in. It is at a police station. But there is a quarantine. So it must wait. 20/

“I told you that taxi driver was cool, right, kids? Right?” I go full Clark Griswold. “You see, kids, you should always trust in the good of people. Didn’t I tell you, Ellen? (*Note: my wife’s name is not Ellen.) 21/

My son heard the UPS truck pull up at 8:30 tonight. He came running downstairs, shirtless, which is kind of weird and probably freaked out the driver.
Yep, everything is there.
In these times, we’ll take any good news and happy reunions.
The end.