As parents, we are constantly teaching our children of the dangers in life they should avoid. "Don't slide down the steps on that pillow, you'll break your neck" (no broken necks here, only bruised and sore butts), "Riding the skateboard in bare feet is a bad idea, you'll rip up your toes on the street" (I have bandaged raw skinned toes several times despite the warning), "Please don't climb on the counters to reach a cabinet, ask for help next time" (this classic broken rule has resulted in a pretty gruesome gouged knee that hit the open lower cabinet corner--NOTE: that rule was never broken again). I'm sure I could sit here all day and come up with an endless list.
Do they listen? Sometimes, but usually I get a rolling of the eyes and a response of "I'll be fine mom, it won't happen to me". We hope it doesn't and much of the time they are fine. There is only so much protection we can provide without securing our children in the proverbial "bubble".
Then there are the dangers that you didn't warn your children about because you didn't think it was an issue. I don't worry about Rachel walking around our town because it's a nice, quiet town where the cops spend their days patrolling around, chasing kids from the park after dark and writing reports about the occasional stolen bicycle. Nothing bad has ever happened here to fear walking around our quaint little borough any time of day.
But things can happen....and it did. My Ray has walked home from her friend's house 2 blocks away just about every day for the last year or two, even after dark. One evening last week, I was expecting her home any minute (she always arrives between 8:30 and 8:45). The phone rings, Ray is in trouble, get down the street right away, someone jumped her and tried to rob her. WHAT?!? Seriously, is this a sick joke? I scrambled to get shoes on and jumped in the car to get there as fast as I could. And, I admit, may not have stopped at the stop sign at the end of our block.
There she laid on the sidewalk, crying and moaning that her knee hurts. I remind myself to remain calm and ask her what happened, but most of what she said was unintelligible through the cries and sobbing. I dial 911. Within minutes the police arrive, but the bum who did this is long gone. We go through the routine questions from the officer (who was extremely patient and understanding throughout the whole thing) and several other officers arrive after patrolling the area and finding nothing. After a few minutes, she attempts to move her knee around (which she had been nursing and pampering as I practically carried her to my car to sit). Luckily, it seems OK...no swelling or bruising showing.
The officer invites Rachel to drive around town with him for a bit. They return to our house a short time later. Of course, they found no one. It's a cold fall night and the streets are fairly quiet at this time of day. The only person outside was someone hanging Christmas lights.
We sit down in our kitchen to give an official report: Rachel was walking home when she saw a man approaching from the other side of the street. She started to walk away from him so she didn't have to pass directly next to him, but next thing she knows, he grabs her from behind by her back pack and puts his hand over his mouth and asks, in what she called a "scratchy" voice, "you got any money or anything?". She shakes her head no, but he asks again and removes his hand from her mouth. She tells him to check her back pack if he wants. At the same time, he is walking (actually pushing) her across the street. Suddenly, he starts to look around and gets skittish, flings her down and runs off. She is laying on the sidewalk watching him run away and begins to scramble to find her phone which went flying out of her hand when she fell.
She was very quiet, not saying much, other than answering the officer's questions. An hour or so later, it's all over and Rachel goes off to bed. I sit there, stunned, but surprisingly calm. I guess I am just glad she is OK, because deep down, I know it could have been much worse. I shudder to even think about it.
The next morning things seemed back to normal. She hobbles off with her sore knee to the bus stop. I stand at the front door watching and wondering if even walking the 100 or so feet from our house to the corner is a good idea. It's dark at 6:15am, will she be OK ? I am still amazed at myself for being rather calm about the whole thing. I wondered if there is something wrong with me?
Later that day, doing routine things around the house, it hits me. Whoa! Some stranger on the street hurt my little girl, grabbed her and threw her down. Tears start dripping down my face and I stopped in my tracks and sobbed for a few minutes.
Does she now realize the importance of me knowing where she is ALL the time, who she is with, how she is getting to wherever she is going, etc.? I think she has, because since that night, she is checking in with me more often and giving information voluntarily without the usual interrogation.
Despite the fact that Ray is physically OK, she has been scarred, frightened and awakened all at the same time. Sometimes, bad things happen in order for good things to happen. This, I think, is one of those times.
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