This is a story about my near abduction and how it affected me as a parent.
Garvey was a busy commercial street during the work week, but on Sundays, not so much. My brother Milton and I were walking to my aunt’s house. We were told to get there before dark. It was dusk when we reached the junction. I thought if we continued walking down Garvey and turned left on my aunt’s street we’d get there faster. Milt tried to convince me to take the residential route with him. We decided to make a bet on who would get there first (“no running”). We split up.
As I began walking westbound on Garvey, I noticed a car slowing down on my side of the street. As the car approached, it came close to the curb as if to park, but it did not stop. The man inside the car leaned down to look at me through his passenger window as he slowly drove by. The unease I felt as I assessed the desolate, grey, industrial path ahead, caused me turn back and try to catch up with my brother. I was too young to know much about abduction and what could’ve happened to me. I recall being taught “don’t talk to strangers” and I have a vague recollection of the words “stay together”.
I quickly backtracked to the junction where my brother and I had made that stupid bet. What I didn’t know was that the stranger had turned down the same street, parked his car and was waiting for me. As I turned the corner onto the residential street the man grabbed me by the arms and asked if I needed a ride. I loudly insisted “no” and screamed for my brother. I screamed his name at the top of my lungs. I still recall the strain on my vocal chords. I kept screaming, kicking, twisting and writhing in the man’s grip. I moved every which way in panic mode which was making it difficult for him to keep control of me. The man must’ve realized I was not alone when he saw my brother running toward us and he released me and drove away. I recall nervously laughing it off with Milt. Later in life, as a young woman, the “what ifs” crossed my mind but I never allowed myself to dwell on it. It would remain a secret between my brother and I until we were well into adulthood. My mother was in her sixties when we casually shared it with her. Needless to say, she was horrified.
When I became a mother it was important to consider the nature and individuality of my children. For example, as a young child Tara thought it was a game to run from us. She got a big kick out of watching mom and dad chasing after her. I actually find the visual memory very funny and chuckle as I write about it but at the time, it was not fun. She slipped out of our sight on several occasions while in public and terror shrieked in our souls, but we were able to find her. Once she even climbed into someone’s open car as we were leaving church. Tara still rests under my protective wing as an adult with Down syndrome. Her father and I are convinced that Tara cannot make safe choices on her own and we don’t know if that will ever change. We continue to work on it and we’re “ok” with that. I still have nightmares that I cannot find Tara.
Ronnie, on the other hand, knew not to talk to strangers. He was born with a protective instinct. Just because I said it was “ok” to talk to someone (like his aunt who he didn’t see that often) it didn’t mean a thing to him. If he didn’t have a level of familiarity, he would not speak and I could not make him. I learned to respect that. When we were out in public he stayed close to me. I recall times he would stand behind me while wrapping his arms around my leg for security. Another example of his reluctance to engage was the time we hosted a party for Tara’s fourth birthday. Ronnie was a few months shy of his third birthday. We hired a Barney the Dinosaur likeness to entertain the kids. Ronnie went into hiding. My friend Julie found him hiding behind a tree in our back yard. I wonder if he hid because he experienced a bunch of “strangers” in his back yard. Maybe it was the Barney character (the costume was terrible). I ended up carrying him into the house for a nap and he slept through the party. Ronnie was equally protective of Tara. He always seemed to be aware of his surroundings and would call my attention to anyone staring at him or his sister. I have a recollection of him using his body in the shape of a life-sized “X” to prevent her from riding her tricycle into the street. He was able to recognize potentially dangerous situations and it’s that instinct that has kept him out of trouble.
Sometimes I see parents and children out in the community with cell phones in hand and I want to say,
Put the phone away.
Be present.
Be vigilant.
John 17:15 I am not praying that you should take them out of the world, but I ask you to protect them from the evil one.
