I’m not one to follow tabloid tragedies, but the Etan Patz case brings up a lot of memories for me and it’s hard to let it go. I’m a child of the ’70s. I was 8 years old when Patz disappeared on May 25, 1979, and it’s one of my most vivid memories of the time. His disappearance was a major topic of discussion in my house in Woodbridge, Virginia. This was for all the normal reasons, of course. My sister and I were of similar age, and it was a watershed moment in American society, causing my parents to watch us ever more closely. Before his photo started showing up on milk cartons, my mom would put us out of the house like the cat. Go play and come back in time for dinner. Not after that.
But it was also a big deal for us, and for me, because when that poor child disappeared he was wearing an Eastern Airlines junior captain hat, and my dad was a pilot for Eastern Airlines. I knew that logo well. I owned hats and bags and other memorabilia like that myself. So my eyes automatically locked on the image of Etan wearing his hat, and, even at that age, I could see myself in him. It was the first time I realized that some people do very bad things to children.
Seeing the stories about Etan today bring me back 33 years, now that I’m grown and have a son of my own who is nearly Etan’s age. The story is awful all around, but I’m glad the police have a likely suspect in custody, and that Etan’s parents will finally have some closure on the biggest tragedy that parents can ever endure. I ache for them, but I think now my bad memories will finally abate. His parents’ pain must be excruciating right now. It will lessen considerably now that they know Etan is in peace, but it will never go away entirely.
