“Click” was the sound that the handcuff made as it dropped across Dad’s wrist. He didn’t appear to mind as he wasn’t paying attention to me and was in the middle of a telephone conversation.
I had found the handcuffs on Dad’s nightstand.
They were in the little black pouch made of leather webbing. To me, at three-years-old, they must have looked like a bright, shiny toy.
Having tried them on my own hands, I found they were too big. They fell off and landed on the floor.
So I wondered outside and onto the car port, where I made the cuffs click some more as I pushed the movable part through the locking part. I eventually locked one of the cuff’s to the frame of my tricycle.
I rode my three-wheeler into the house and locked the remaining cuff to Dad’s wrist.
Dad’s telephone conversation ended suddenly ended and the search was on to find the key. Eventually, the handcuffs had to be removed by another Air Policeman who came by the house.
And that after all the searching was over, the key was found in Dad’s watch pocket of the jeans he was wearing, but no one had thought to look there.