I was on aisle 4, thumbing through the boxes of Captain Crunch, trying to find the one that had the sweetest toy inside.  It was a Thursday afternoon in mid March — almost Spring, but not quite.  But that didn’t matter, spring fever was setting in anyway.

While most people in the store, including my mom, were purchasing cleaning supplies for their grand spring cleaning adventures they had planned for that weekend, I was searching for meaning.  In a cereal box.

I wasn’t aware of this at the time.  As far as I was concerned, I simply wanted an awesome whistle or maze.  Or maybe even some temporary tattoos.  I was seven years old, hardly aware of my own male attributes, much less my existentialist feelings.  But deep down inside, I wanted something more from that box of Captain Crunch.  I wanted something more than just an awesome view finder or mini Etch-a-Sketch.  I wanted significance.

I finally stumbled across a box with a miniature Where’s Waldo? book inside and concluded that that was going to be my best bet.

I set off down the cereal aisle to find my mom.  I walked by the dairy section and noticed the leaky jugs of milk and styrofoam cartons of cracked eggs, dripping with yellow and clear goo.  I wondered who would be unfortunate enough to purchase one of these egg cartons due to their lack of common sense.  I felt sorry for them.  Then I laughed and continued to look for my mom.

I looked down every aisle twice, but didn’t see her.

I tried not to panic.  Instead, I decided to do what I learned from one of my Sesame Street books — stay in one location and wait for my mom to find me.  I sat down in the middle of aisle 7, because I was that many years old.  My mom was certainly not going to miss me there.

I wanted to make the most of my time while I was waiting.  So I opened the box of Captain Crunch and dug through the cereal for the Where’s Waldo? book.  I pulled it out and began to search for Waldo, page by page.  I found him pretty easily in the carnival scene amongst the clowns and elephants.  The airport scene was a little more difficult due to all the holiday travelers.  And the Coliseum scene was proving to be nearly impossible.

I spent several minutes scanning over gladiators dressed in red & white striped armor who were fighting lions wearing red & white fur coats.  Everyone and everything was red & white.  But no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find Waldo.

I started to panic.  I couldn’t find Waldo.  My mom hadn’t found me.  And subconsciously, I was upset that I hadn’t found my significance.  I was lost.

And then, as I stared at the can of kidney beans in front of me, it hit me.

I was Waldo.  I may not have been wearing red & white everything, carrying a canteen and a camera, or holding a cane, but I was Waldo.  The grocery store was a spread in a giant Where’s Waldo? book and my mom was searching the pages for her Waldo.

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