One of my favorite things about our location is its proximity to a multi-use trail. We live half a mile from a junction known as the Triangle, where visitors can grab a drink or stop in the bathroom before they head north or south or east. There's a little amphitheater as well.
The trail runs all over town, through neighborhoods better and worse, and now and then there are incidents. Maybe once a year, on average, there's a story in the newspaper about a bad encounter -- a robbery, or an assault. There are thousands of trail users in this area, though, so one newsworthy incident per year is a rate that I can live with. I've had my own moments of uncertainty. A mentally ill man used to hang out on my most-frequented stretch of the trail, muttering and occasionally carrying a big stick. Once I was biking at dusk when I saw this huge guy ahead of me. He moved onto my side of the trail and lifted his hands over his head in what looked like a menacing gesture. I wasn't sure what to do. Just bike past him? Bike at him? As I got closer I realized that he was plugged into his headphones, jamming out. He had danced over to my side of the trail, not realizing that anyone was nearby.
About ten days ago a woman was assaulted at the Triangle. She headed out for an early run, but a man knocked her down and began pulling at her clothes. She fought him off and called the police. She's okay. They haven't found the attacker. In the past I've had a dozen reasons for not worrying too much about trail incidents. It's almost always well trafficked, I tell myself. That assault happened right by the sketchy neighborhood. I don't run with any valuables. Etc. But this assault did not happen by the sketchy neighborhood. It happened in my neighborhood, in the place where I am most likely to run.
Stella is doing a summer camp at the amphitheater. In past summers, we've had pairs of Gladly kids walk home from camp by themselves; this year she's the only attendee from our family. Today I walked over to pick her up, and we headed down the sun-dappled trail together. And I wondered: how much weight should I give this news? Should it change my own decisions about where and when I run? It's the happiest place in town for me. I'd hate to think it was unwise for me to be there alone. (But is it?)
And what about Stella? She's 10 now. It is entirely reasonable for her to walk home from the amphitheater after camp is over. But should I tell her to walk home on the town sidewalks, avoiding the trail? Should I tell her what happened on the trail and let her decide how she feels about taking the trail alone? Should I contact the neighborhood mom whose kid lives a block away and see if she's interested in having them walk home together? I'm undecided. And I don't know if I'll get pushback from the camp staff if I tell them Stella will be signing herself out and walking home from now on.
I was mulling it over at the breakfast table when I saw this article about Dutch parenting. I suspect a Dutch parent would chuckle about my concerns. Twenty-first century America is a weird place to be a mom.
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