The kidnapping that could have happened should be alarming.

A Five-Year-Old Girl Got In The Car Of A Stranger

A true story- and a lesson in assumptions.

My family was at a Christmas tree farm wandering through the temporary forest of trees. The rows seemed endless, and we had been walking along the only road that existed on the farm, together for a few minutes.

As a five-year-old girl, my only mission was to seek out fun and occasionally eat and sleep. So it did not seem out of the ordinary when my brother and I began to run through the fields of trees. Not to me, anyway.

I heard my mother shout in the distance “Don’t let Lori out of your sight” to my then 9-year-old brother. I giggled because at the time I was already out of his sight. I had chosen a cool hiding spot beneath a chubby, triangular Christmas tree and I could see his tennis shoes shuffling past the tree as he searched for me. I stayed quiet and still because that's how hiding works best.

I heard my brother's footsteps fade away as he ran off, still trying to find me. I giggled and rolled out from under the poky-pine branches and stood up. I dusted off my pink corduroy pants and noticed that my hands were sticky with sap from the tree I had just been hiding beneath. The sap had a wonderful, potent scent that only chubby Christmas trees have.

I giggled and called out “Eric I am here” and I waited to hear my brother’s reply. But I only heard silence.

I scampered nervously left and right through a maze of increasingly scary trees. How is it possible that the trees that only moments before seemed chubby and jolly now seemed daunting and devilish?

I was panicking, as I looked in all directions and only saw trees. So many trees.

I heard a distant sound of an engine running and I instinctively ran toward the sound. I must have understood that the road meant I could find people, and hopefully my family would be there.

I saw the road, the one and only road that goes to and from the tree farm. I began sprinting, fastest I had ever run in my little life. As I approached the road, I became overwhelmed with fear and I toppled to the ground and found myself halfway on the road, and halfway in the dirt.

I sat up, stunned, and coughed. My mouth had dirt in it. The ponytail on my head, that my mother had meticulously styled that morning, had twigs and leaves entangled in the locks of light blonde hair.

I saw a car, and it was rolling slowly toward me.

I jumped up and out of the road, and the car stopped. A window rolled down revealing several children and a woman driver. She was someone's mom! I was happy to see her.

She asked “Are you lost? Where are your parents?” I shrugged, silently. I could see no other cars on the road. She leaned across the passenger seat and opened the car door and motioned for me to hop in. I gladly accepted her offer and happily joined her and her kids.

Once inside the vehicle she buckled me in, I thanked her and she slowly made her way to the exit of the farm. I had no feelings of fear anymore. I was safe I thought because I was with a mom. I really thought that a mom was automatically a good, trustworthy person. My mom was the only example I had of what moms are like, so I just assumed moms were good.

The rickety vehicle stopped at the farm entrance and parked next to the ranger's little booth. She said to all of us in the car that we should wait in the car for a minute and she looked at me in the eye and said “Don’t you move a muscle, honey. Stay put.”

I watched as the woman spoke to the ranger, and they both began waving their arms and motioning excitedly about something. That is when I saw my mother, running. I was excited but the woman said I should stay put so I just sat in the car waving happily at my mom as she approached the rangers station. I was happy to see her and I could not wait to see the tree we would be taking home.

Not far behind my mother, I saw my dad and my brother running too. They looked scared. I could not understand the situation fully, but I saw the adults talking about something exciting. My mom and the woman rushed over to the passenger door of the woman's car, and my mom's shaking hands unbuckled me and scooped me into her arms in a swift, single motion. She was crying.

I was confused. I pulled back to look at my mom’s face, wet with tears and I asked a question innocently, while everyone was listening intently.

“Mommy, what’s wrong? They don’t have a good enough tree for Christmas?”

All the adults and my brother and the kids in the woman’s car burst out in laughter. I was still totally bewildered. What was so funny? Why was my mommy crying and shaking? What on Earth was happening here?

My mom set me down and kneeled to speak with me. She said in a mixture of relief and anger “ Lori Ann! I taught you — never get in the car with strangers! Why did you get in the car with a stranger? We are lucky this stranger was not a kidnapper.”

I didn’t think my mom was feeling well. I explained to her, from my five-year-old perspective.

“She is not a stranger, she is a Mom!”

My mom was concerned. She said “Lori, what do you think a stranger is?”

I replied, “A stranger is a scary man with a hat on and a mask.” I really thought that was the definition of a stranger.

“A stranger is a scary man with a hat on and a mask.” I really thought that was the definition of a stranger.

Again all the adults burst out in laughter, even my mother. She was pulling leaves from my hair and cleaning my face with her thumbs.

She explained “No Lori. I don't know how you got that idea. But all people who you have never met — all of them — are strangers. A stranger is someone you don't know, Lori.”

Shocked I explained how I had come to my understanding of what a stranger was. “The stickers we got from school had a picture of a stranger on them. And the sign on our street at home has the same stranger too. I thought that was what a stranger was!”

The whole bunch had gathered around and were conversing casually but I was still confused. On the car ride home my mom, dad, brother, and I had an important discussion.

We came to the conclusion that I had never known what a stranger really was until I had already broken the number one rule of safety. Never get in the car with strangers.

By the time we got home, I understood that a stranger is anyone who I do not know and that even moms can be bad sometimes. My mom explained that I was very lucky that the stranger I had gotten a ride from was a good person but had it been a bad person I may have been stolen forever.

I was happy to be safe.

Years later I still get the chills thinking of how a small miscommunication with a child can lead to devastation — even if the child is taught common-sense safety rules. We all need to make sure the words our children seem to understand are defined completely.

I really did not know the danger I was in that day.

Thankfully I had a run-in with a decent stranger and not the type who steals children but imagine how bad that could have gone. Even with the most careful and wonderful parents, a kid can slip away on a very basic misunderstanding.