From: The Annals of Family History, Chapter 2

Even at the tender age of 10, my son had a need for organization. I never had a problem with his room being uncluttered. Notice, dear Reader, I did not use the word 'clean' because this child didn't understand that dirt and dust was clutter, too, just of a smaller ilk. My son loved to arrange my cabinets. In fact, I believe it was he (although he has not claimed it even to this day) who alphabetized my spices and my canned goods.

We once lived in an apartment that was well-appointed with all of the latest in European accroutrements. It was a small kitchen, but the storage was amazing! Everything had its place and it was easy to keep everything in its place, which pleased my son very much.

Now, this child is not the only child I have and so, therefore, I have a very strict rule about yelling within the confines of our abode. I have watched otherwise sane adults go tottering down hallways after being summoned by a tiny disembodied voice. I decided in my pre-child days that I would not become one of them.

And, so, on a snowy day, when I heard from far away, the voice of my son, I did what I always did in that situation, I ignored him. He didn't sound hurt or scared, so I surmised he wanted me to bring something to him - possibly thicker gloves so he'd stay warm during the snowball fights. I was the adult, so he would have to come to me. I went about my business.

I thought he would show up in a minute or two, he was normally quick with these lessons. But, he kept calling . . . and calling . . . and calling. The 'Moooommmmm's weren't panicky, but more like he just wanted a word with me. But, he kept calling . . . and calling . . . and calling. I went to the front window, saw no one outside. I went to the back window, saw no one outside. But, I noticed as I went to the back window, that the voice was a little louder, a little stronger. "Son? Where are you?"

"I'm in here, Mom", he responded. In here, where, I thought. He still sounded outside.

"Son, keep calling. I'll follow your voice."

"OK, Mom, I'm here. Just help me get out, please."

I followed his poor unfortunate voice into the kitchen and it sounded as though it were coming from behind a cabinet door.

"Son, are you in the kitchen?"

"Yes, ma'am. Please hurry, my legs are cramping." My son was always ever so polite.

I opened the corner cabinet door to find my tall, skinny, 10 year old son peering out at me from behind a carousel shelving unit that spun on its axis like a lazy susan. His poor face was contorted into an imagined manly face. My son was not going to cry! I put my hand to my mouth in surprise and told him to hold still, I had to get something to help extricate him.

I went to get the camera because I had to snap that picture before I could move the lazy susan in a direction for him to climb out. My son was not amused. When I asked him how he had gotten into such a predicament, he explained that he found a can of vegetables in the back of the cabinet, on the floor of the space, not on the lazy susan. He went in after it!

He is still rescuing poor unfortunate cans of vegetables, but they are in his house now. I call him when one of my cans goes missing. And he is still ever so polite.