I do a little shopping the day before Christmas Eve. I’ve recently learned that my little brother wants a specific toy and my mom needs me to pick up some wrapping paper. She has given me her card.
I find a small child playing with said toy. He’s standing beside an empty cart, so I assume his parents just left him there while they shop. I look around, wondering where they could be. I go looking for another toy and find one which my little brother would love.
The kid has noticed this and I point at it, trying to make small talk, but he ignores me, talking some gibberish. I keep looking around for his parents but don’t see them.
Me: “Hey, where’re your parents?”
No response of any kind. Not even a glance.
Me: “This is a nice toy, isn’t it? It’s for my little brother.”
He’s still not listening. This is a really little kid, and given I come from a very large family, I’m not exactly surprised by his behaviour, but I really want to find this kid’s parents. Eventually, I decide to just go, still thinking that the kid’s been left here by his — irresponsible — parents. I am sure they’ll get him from the toy section and fully intend to just let them have it.
I’m walking through the aisles looking for wrapping paper when the kid just runs right in front of me. Does this kid think I’m his babysitter now? Has he been following me or something? I begin following him, even more worried by this point.
The kid and I reach a display area next to the cash registers, and he’s pretty much stopped by now. He’s busy looking at the various toy cars on it. I start asking him questions now. I ask him where his parents are, and he doesn’t respond. He just stares and touches the toy I’ve picked out. He’s trying to take it from my hands and I’m still trying to explain that this is for my little brother. I wonder if he might be autistic because he’s absolutely not engaging with me, just trying to play with the toy. He’s holding his hands out politely, like a good little boy. I give it to him, thinking this will help somehow.
As I am listening to his gibberish, it starts to dawn on me that this isn’t gibberish; it’s some Eastern European language — I’m guessing Russian. I ask him his age. He understands that and holds out three fingers, saying, “Three,” with a noticeable accent.
I’m the only adult in this store who seems concerned about this unattended, three-year-old Russian kid who doesn’t speak English. I’m finding this kid’s parents and that’s it.
I think I can just leave the kid by the display area, since I have no way to make him follow me without grabbing his hand, and, well, that’s way too risky for me. Turns out, I don’t have to worry. The kid begins following me, holding out his hand for the toy. I hold it out a little and am now leading this kid along using a toy.
I run into a mother and her kids who I’ve already seen. I know what they are probably thinking and decide that enough is enough.
Me: “He’s not mine.”
Mother: “What?”
Me: “He’s not mine. I just found him in the toy section and have been trying to find his parents.”
Mother: “Oh, Lord, [Daughter], take this baby up to the front.”
Her kids do what she told them, taking the little kid up to the front where they hand them off to the employees. When I get to the register, I get in line, ready to pay up. I see the kid is still there, and nobody can find his parents. Fully believing the kid has been left behind, I decide to try and find someone who might have seen this kid, because I want to know how long he’s been left here for. I see an older man marching toward the front. I decide to ask him.
Me: “Excuse me, sir, how long have you been here for?”
Older Man: *In a heavy Russian accent* “About an hour.”
Me: “Are you missing your grandson?”
Older Man: “Yes, have you seen him?”
Me: *Pointing to the register* “He’s up there.”
He thanks me and I accompany him. There are only two people in a small store with Russian accents, in America, so I assume they’re related.
One of the store employees — not unreasonably — doesn’t see it that way. She immediately demands for this man to prove he’s related to the kid, whose hand he’s already taken. The employee is going to take him back, as are some others. I realize I might have messed up, with everyone shouting at each other now, when the older man protectively wraps an arm around the kid, glaring at the employees.
Older Man: “He run from me. I was going to get him from the toys.”
That’s it. That’s literally his excuse. His grandson just ran from him, and he couldn’t keep up, so he decided to just get his stuff and then pick him up from the toy section an hour later. I’m standing off to the side, watching this, when things get a little more heated again.
Employee: “Sir, you cannot leave until you’ve proved you’re related to this boy.”
Older Man: “I don’t have to prove anything to you.”
I went back to my place in line, just watching what was happening because I kind of wanted to see how this ended. Another employee walked by and informed [Older Man] that the police had been called.
I got in the back of the line, and it was moving somewhat smoothly. When I reached the till, I forgot the PIN for my mother’s credit card. She was outside now, so I went to ask her. As I headed off to do that, I passed the Russian grandfather and grandson. The grandfather was trying to exit the store, but the employee wouldn’t let him.
I asked my mom for the PIN, and then I went back into the store and the police arrived. I decided to see if I should give a statement because I was the guy who kind of sounded the alarm here.
The police officer was talking with the grandfather. During this, he asked the kid’s name. I mentally slapped myself for not having thought of that. But I also realized that the grandfather had never given us the kid’s name, either, or even called him by a name. It occurred to me that this man had made no effort to even try to keep his grandson by his side.
Well, it turned out, I didn’t need to give a statement and I could leave.
I don’t know what became of the two after that, but looking back, it was obvious the grandfather, while caring about his grandson, was just a little too lazy in taking care of him.
