I hate this day.  Every year, I dread this day.

Because, you know, it’s not why we do it.  We do our jobs because they pay us.  We don’t expect a day to celebrate us.  We don’t need a day to appreciate us.  We’re quite content to do our work and make things run smoothly.

But, whether or not I hate it, today is Administrative Professional’s Day.  Or, as you may otherwise know it, Secretary’s Day. 

See, here’s the thing.  Admins are the ones that keep up with holidays.  We’re the ones that send out birthday reminders, keep up with important deadlines, and know when that guy’s wife is due to deliver their first baby.  That’s our job.  It’s what we do.

So no one really REMEMBERS APD/SD.  Because the AP doesn’t want to remind them. 

Because, AGAIN, it’s so not important.  It’s not something that will make or break our work ethic.  We’re here, working, regardless of today’s significance.

But when you have to sit in an office and “man the fort” while all the other Admins are taken out to lunch.. everyone asks, “Why are they all out to lunch together?”  And you have to respond.. well, it’s APDay.  And then they look at you, half-pitying, and say, “Well.. aren’t you included?”

OF COURSE I’m included.  But I don’t see a need to avoid work in order to celebrate some frivolous holiday just because..

OHMYGOD, I’M SCROOGE.

(In other news, my APDay is tomorrow.  I’m secretly excited about it.)

Mom.. Dad.. I’d like to apologize to you. 

Because I never realized what fear having children brings. 

I mean, there are dangers that you KNOW are going to be there.  You prepare your child for those.  You teach them to not touch a hot eye on the stove, or to use the handrails on the escalator, or that they should look both ways before they cross the street. 

And sometimes, you find dangers ahead of time, so you can adequately prepare your child for them.  You teach your child that THIS person may want to take you, so you say no.  You say no, you scream, and you find another adult.  But even then, you know the face of the danger.  You know the shape, the scope of its arm.

Last night, I did something I haven’t done in far too long.. I went running.  I leashed Charlie up, and we set off on a mystical adventure.  Charlie was doing great, even socializing with some of the other dogs we encountered, and playing with the children who were visiting the ball game down at the park.  In fact, while we were down there, watching the millions of kids hit baseballs and sniffing the hamburgers, I thought, “Maybe we should stay here.  I really like this neighborhood.  I want The Boy to grow up in this environment.”  And we continued on our way.

After running for 30 minutes, we headed home.  A maroon F250 pulled up beside me.  It was an older lady driving it, so I wasn’t too terribly worried.  With a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and wide, startling eyes.. she looked like a redneck Carol Kane.

“You got a little boy, don’t you?” she shouted from the truck.

“What?” I shouted back.

“I’ve seen your little boy.  You need to know that there’s a child molester that lives on your street.  He’s been accused of raping little boys.  He’s been arrested twice, but he’s home now.  Just know that.”  And she spat out his name at me, challenged me to look him up on the predator list, and sped off.

I almost threw up.

We got home, I unleashed the dog, then sat down to take a moment.  And, as she asked, I got online and looked up my street.  I couldn’t find him.

Must be a mistake, I thought.  So I checked a wider area.  Nothing.  No name.  Nothing.

So what do you do, to protect your child from unknown fears?  Especially ones you can’t confirm?