“I guess a lot of people would consider it a choking hazard. But it really only is if you leave him alone with it.”

Standing alone, that sounds like the start of a story making fun of some bad advice.

Au contraire. Our son Carter’s aunt Emilie gave him for his first birthday, among many other thoughtful gifts, a maraca. Before she let us hand it to Carter she prepped us fully.

“It was our son Jackson’s favorite toy. It is so simple but he just loved it.” She held it up and gave it a little shake. Carter’s eyebrows and ears rose up as if connected with puppet strings. Emilie was holding a three-inch long, green plastic rattle. “See, this narrow end can go down their throat, but the big part can’t fit in their mouth, you only need to be nearby, so if you need to, you can just pull the thing out. I know it sounds weird, but Jackson just loved his. Anyways, I thought Carter might like it too.”

After everyone left Carter’s elaborate and beautifully orchestrated First Birthday celebration, which his mother, Laura, went completely all out on, we collapsed on the floor amongst the torn wrapping paper and paper cake plates. Carter still had some gas left in his tank. He was sitting, legs splayed out, on the floor next to his playpen. Around him in a circle were presents and boxes forming a protective fort. Noah’s Ark, complete with a dozen talking animals was listing to his left. Shirts and pants and even two little pairs of shoes were cast about in an arcing pile. Hard-covered children’s books and adorable stuffed animals finished the circle of generosity surrounding our little boy.

In the center of it all Carter was smiling, and in the tight little fist of his right hand he held the three-inch long, green plastic maraca. He would shake it, look at our tired faces to make sure we were watching, and then shake it some more. Emilie was so right. Hundreds of dollars of gifts were lavishly and lovingly poured onto this kid this day, yet nothing could compete with the little green maraca.

***

“Cam?” Laura sputtered as she maneuvered Carter in his stroller past the screen door. She plopped Carter into his playpen, and tried to speak.

“His . . . his . . . maraca. I think I left it in the park. He had it. Now he doesn’t. Oh my. What are we going to do?”

“Here, quick, distract him with these four hundred dollars worth of toys.” is what I didn’t say.

“I’ll go right now and look for it.” is what I did say.

I jumped in the car and headed to the park. There were two young boys leaving the park when I got there. I love children, as long as they possess my DNA. These boys, on the other hand, had surely swiped Carter’s maraca.

Not only did they not have it, but they helped me scour the park for it.

I saw three young girls fighting over two jump ropes on my way back. They also jumped at the chance to help. One thought she saw something plastic and green at the big park farther down the road.

At the big park two teenage girls helped me look. No luck.

The maraca was a goner. I drove to the drugstore and looked all over for a rattle. A manager saw me struggling and asked to help.

I said, “A rattle. For a baby. But it might not be in the baby section because it is kind of a choking hazard.”

No luck.

I went to the grocery store. Nothing.

I went back to the drug store and bought the next best thing.

“I’ll take these.” I said, plunking down $1.49 for a set of colored plastic keys on a ring.

Carter was playing happily in his playpen when I finally returned. Laura said, “Any luck?”

“Nope. The maraca is a goner I’m afraid. This is the best I could do.” I handed her the toy keys.

“Oh, that is so sweet, but you didn’t need to go to all that trouble. Look Carter. What a good daddy you have. Here, let’s see what daddy bought you.” Laura reached in and lifted Carter out of the playpen. “Wait a minute. Oh, my gosh. Look at that. Your maraca! You’ve been sitting on it. Well, that’s funny. Cam? Don’t you think that’s funny?”