I’m sure many of you are unaccustomed to the tyranny of a toddler, but at some point have heard some exhausted parent speak of having to watch the same cartoon ad infinitum. Yes, children become laser focused to the point of pure insanity and are somehow able to watch the same damn cartoon over and over…And over, my own son notwithstanding. I’m not sure what parents did before the invention of Disney+. I guess they used DVD players and before that, VHS. But what about before that and before cable TV existed? Is this why most children were spanked leading up into the 80s? Can we thank superior technology and the streaming wars for less corporal discipline of our country’s budding youth?

On the first or second or even third…fourth…fifth viewing…I do enjoy most of the Pixar and Disney movies (except for Frozen, shoot me) for their great writing and frequent darkness. After the tenth and onto the twentieth however, it can become tedious, but something does happen after we pass 33. You hit a level of madness that morphs into some sort of zen. You allow it to pass over you and enter into the “fuck it” zone of your brain where you realize resistance is futile and peace is easier than war.

We had a small McQueen Matchbox toy in the apartment at some point. Different from the others costing $1.15, this one, a purchase from Target, for a whopping $5.99, became my son’s favorite toy for a long while which also coincided with his obsessive viewings of Cars, Cars II, Cars III, and the frustratingly short episodes of Cars on the Road.

Ah, McQueen! Good old number 95 voiced by Owen Wilson. Wow. The cocky speedster who teaches us all of life’s lessons in brilliant CGI.

I have no idea what spawned this compulsion yesterday, but I hadn’t seen the physical manifestation of the old chap around for awhile which prompted me to ask my son, “Where the hell is McQueen? Have you seen McQueen?”

This motivated us to search all the places where McQueen might dwell. Under the stove (where he lived for quite some time), under either the couch or the love seat, between the cushions, behind any of the beds. Nothing.

“I saw McQueen this morning,” the Missus told us. A hint that sent us even further on this wild goose chase where my son chanted “McQueen, McQueen, McQueen,” over and over and over.

Maybe the car? The interior of my poor Volkswagen looks like a bum, I mean homeless, sorry roof challenged, sorry “unhoused” person lives in it. A collection of balls of various sizes, shapes, and sports, a scooter, beach toys, frisbees, a weight sled, a 45 pound plate, many soiled farmer’s market bags, a giant duffle bag containing a jump rope, an old pair of spats, and many compression garments to aid joint injuries, an old dresser drawer from a move out, bar rags, two pairs of flip flops, two pairs of sneakers–one nice and new, one for parks only–a pair of hiking boots, and all the detritus that comes with having a child locked into a safety chair. The chair itself disgusting, sandy, crumb filled.

My son and I combed the interior to no avail. Under the seats. Under the piles of debris. “McQueen. McQueen. McQueen.” Yeah, where the hell did poor McQueen end up? Why am I such a slob? How did the interior of my sort of new car approach this level of shameful filth?

It’s quite possible the dog got him. But she tends not to mangle the metal cars and is more fond of plastic markers and wooden train trestles. The truth is that kids are consumed by these objects…Until they are not…And old McQueen could be at any one of the half dozen parks we attend.

Yes, there’s a stupid lesson contained here. We’re all looking for our personal McQueen. Oftentimes we look too hard and come back disappointed. We search for something that has simply vanished. There is no looking back, only forward. Insert another cliche wherever you choose, but we often forget about this part of life and need the reminder that sometimes the things we want the most, the items or people or sections and swaths of time from the past that once dominated our minds, are gone forever, never to return.