St. Anthony, Patron Saint of Lost and Stolen Things

Earlier this week my son called to say he needed a passport and he couldn’t find his birth certificate. He had last seen it in a coke can, and he had left it there because he knew he would remember where it was. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find the coke can.

“You know what?” I said, “I was looking for MY birth certificate a couple of weeks ago, and I couldn’t find it – but I found one of yours!”

He was happy. He was even happier when I told him I’d also found his SIN card while looking for my birth certificate. (I had finally given up looking for my birth certificate, and applied for a new one. I was born in Quebec, which was a big mistake since they didn’t issue birth certificates way back then and you had to jump through hoops involving baptismal certificates which had to be obtained from churches that had changed names or burned to the ground years ago, and then you could use the baptismal certificate to obtain a birth certificate. Then, when you finally obtained the almost-unobtainable birth certificate, they changed the entire system and declared all those birth certificates invalid, forcing everybody who was ever born in Quebec to get a new and improved birth certificate. I did all that and then lost it!)

Back to the story. James wanted to pick it up his birth certificate that evening so he could go stand in line at the passport office before it even opened the next morning. Apparently getting a passport is like buying highly-coveted rock concert tickets now. But I had plans right after work to help a friend install one of those floating floors, so I told him I’d get the birth certificate and drop it off to him immediately after work.

“But,” I said in that unavoidably motherly way, “You really should buy one of those accordian-type file folders and keep all your important papers in it.”

“I know,” he said, “I will.” (He won’t.)

“Or,” I said, “You should give it back to me so I can keep it in a safe place for you and you’ll always know where it is.”

“I know,” he said, “I will.” (He won’t.)

I got home from work that night, dashed to the filing cabinet, and searched the two folders labelled “miscellaneous.” No birth certificate. I searched the five folders labelled “James” but they were mostly full of childhood artwork and stories he wrote and letters from principals and report cards saying he was disorganized. Hmmm.

Then I ransacked every box in the basement. I couldn’t find it. I phoned him and told him I couldn’t find it and I was out of time, but I’d look again the next evening.

The next evening I found it in a box in my bedroom. Eureka. And then I found his SIN card in the funny-face plant pot. He was happy.

“Make sure you give it back to me when you’re done,” I said.

“I will,” he promised, “And I’ll keep looking for my copy.”

“You won’t,” I said.

The very next morning I was tearing around my house getting ready for Paddy Mitchell’s funeral. I had left too many things to the last minute: ripping a CD, testing a new digital voice recorder, making room on my camera, finding a bag to carry all my stuff in, finding out what bus to take, getting dressed, updating Paddy’s blog, etc. So I was doing it all simultaneously. I was multi-tasking. At one point I was dumping stuff out of a briefcase so I could put other stuff in it, and guess what I found? MY birth certificate! Woohoo. Then I decided I didn’t want to carry a briefcase so I transferred all my stuff into my knapsack. Then I realized I had put down the digital voice recorder and couldn’t find it. It’s about the size of a Bic lighter and I searched everywhere for it. I finally found it in the briefcase that I wasn’t taking after all. I even found my T-4 slip in my knapsack – I hadn’t seen it since the day I got it at the end of December.

Maybe I should thank St. Anthony, the Patron Saint of Lost and Stolen Things. He’s also the Patron Saint of sailors, travellers and fisherman. (Coincidentally, the venue for Paddy’s reception ended up being changed at the last minute to St. Anthony’s instead of the Prescott Hotel, because the Prescott wasn’t big enough. As we know, Paddy had his share of involvement with lost and stolen things, and he was also a traveller and a fisherman. It’s probably just a coincidence. But it did give me a moment’s pause…)