siliconmom.com

home

Fear: balancing safety with freedom

Fear: Balancing Safety with Freedom By Rena Shaw Davidow In the early 90’s, Peninsula-area women were emotional hostages to a serial rapist who boldly attacked his victims during the day in public areas. In 1996, the rapist pleaded guilty and received two life sentences plus 56 years. While he was still at large, I continued to jog alone, even though local women were encouraged to ``buddy-up'' for outdoor exercising. A psychiatrist friend suggested that I harbored a fantasy of capturing the rapist, perhaps flattening him with a Tae Kwon Do kick. I maintained that I jogged alone because I refused to allow the parameters of my independence to be narrowed by fear. Looking back, I wonder if I wasn't foolish. This man attacked women within days and blocks of each other; in one case, he assaulted someone around the corner from my home. What was I thinking, jogging alone, armed with a paring knife tucked into my sock? I've been forced to re-examine my notions regarding personal safety in a different context during the past few years. My daughter, then 10, is now a lovely 13-year-old. Now she is the one who wants to jog alone. When I was her age, I remember the catcalls of older teenage boys passing by in cars. But that was the Midwest of the 1950s, a kind of island in time -- an era we fondly remember for its unlocked front doors and friendly neighborhoods. The whistles and catcalls didn't seem to have the implied threat of physical harm that some of us might attach to them today. I remember the day -- and night -- when I was 12, that I finally mastered ice-skating. I soared across the empty rink right past the dinner hour, feeling the joy of smooth speed in the dark. It did not occur to me for a moment to be afraid of a passing stranger. All I knew then was that my empty rink was the best place to skate. My only fear was of falling. After walking the half-mile home with my frozen feet, I was reprimanded by my parents -- not because I'd put myself in danger by skating alone at night, but because, quite simply, I hadn't come home earlier, when I was expected. Compare this scene with one I witnessed recently at the local supermarket. A distraught and angry mother scolded her preschooler for wandering away from her side in the produce aisle. ``Stay close to me!'' she admonished. ``Do you want a bad man to come and steal you? 'What was the child learning here? And at what emotional cost? Perhaps the little girl wouldn't stray from her mother's side again soon, but the subtext of her mother's scolding -- that bad men lurk just around the corner to steal her away -- must have left its imprint as well. This parent may have frightened her child into behaving more cautiously, but she may also have scared her into simply feeling more scared of her own small world. Of course, we live in dangerous times. Often, upon reading of some recent bombing or shooting or abduction, I'd complain about today's perils to my husband. My underlying concern was not for us but for our children. My inevitable question was always the old one: What kind of world did we bring our children into? My husband's response, irritatingly the same, usually infuriated me. ``The world has always been a dangerous place,'' he'd say. I resented what seemed to be his trivialization of today's plagues of random violence, the disregard for the value of life. Indeed, the world always has been a dangerous place, and it's not likely to get safer - in any sense - any time soon. So what about my daughter? With what weapons should I arm her as she marches into adulthood? I know what I don't want to impart to her: I don't want her to be afraid of life, I don't want her to view her world as dangerous. Regardless of what she sees on television or hears from her friends, I want her to conduct her own life from a position of strength, not fear. How does this translate into her everyday life? I like the term the politicians use: ``cautious optimism.'' I want her to enjoy her jog, but to be aware that she should run during times and in places where there are traffic and people around. I want her to believe that most people are, as her heroine Anne Frank felt, good at heart, so that if she should need to ask how to find a place in the mall or ask someone the time she can feel comfortable approaching an adult. She already can sense if people seem inappropriate or potentially threatening. I want her to continue to cultivate her intuition regarding whom she can trust and to develop her instincts for sizing up people and situations. I want her to be aware of the world as it is, but to know that for now the parameters of her daily life are small, and that she has considerable power in managing her life, bolstering her own safety. I don't want her to be anyone's emotional hostage. I don't want her to look at her world through a gauzy lens. I want her to be aware of the world as it is. But I want her to live with the same confidence I had when I'd just learned to skate on a wide-open rink. About the author: Rena Shaw Davidow is a Silicon Valley writer who battles her maternal angst with a pen. When not tackling family issues, she writes technology-related articles about high-profile innovators and career trends. Contact her at renasd@earthlink.net.

home