Dude, Where’s My Monster Truck?

Write about a loss: something (or someone) that was part of your life.
Today’s twist: Make today’s post the first in a three-post series.

It was a beautiful autumn day in Melbourne and the leaves were scattered all over the grounds of the museum surroundings. After parking our Volkswagen in a street parking bay across the way, my husband, my almost 3 year old son and I walked towards the path that led to the entrance of the Melbourne museum.

My son, like most boys his age did not leave the house without a small toy to accompany him. Today, he had a small monster truck held tightly in his right hand while his left clung to my husband’s hand. We walked into the museum through the automatic glass doors and headed straight to the entry queue. After a couple of minutes, we had reached the ticket counter. We acquired our entry tickets and walked towards a big room with a giant skeleton of a dinosaur at the front.

The museum was filled with people of all ages. Walking and exploring one side to the other in excitement. We joined in on this activity naturally. My husband spotted a glass display of different types of rocks with interesting formations. They had beautiful colours running through them. Surprisingly, my son was also excited to see them. I thought, “like father, like son” and smiled.

We spent another 30 minutes gallivanting through the different areas of the museum. Then we decided to call it a day. As we headed toward the exit, we stopped to visit the museum shop. There were a variety of things on sale including books, toys, clothes, drinking glasses, cup-holders and calendars. My husband and son went over to the left to explore the things sitting along the walls of the shop, while my eyes led me towards the Aboriginal scarves hanging on the opposite side. The designs were quite artistic. Circles within circles within circles of different colours that complemented each other. They were very pleasing to the eyes. I already had a love for Aboriginal art, so my interest in these scarves did not surprise me. After I forced myself to move on, I made my way towards my boys. They were looking at butterflies that had been framed in a display.

We exited the museum shop shortly after and stepped out of the automatic glass doors we had walked through earlier in the day. The autumn sun was still out. We headed for the path towards our car. All of a sudden, I realised there was something missing. The monster truck was not in any of my son’s hands. Where did it go? I asked my husband. He didn’t seem to know. I turned to my son and asked again. Where did it go? He looked at his empty hand and looked up at me with confused eyes.

To be continued…

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