aeryn

Tonight the neighborhood was filled with our childrens laughter. I could hear their footsteps pounding up the sidewalk, and shouts being punctuated by the bouncing of a ball. It reminded me of so many summer evenings of my own childhood. They were free, easy flowing nights when we would roam in groups, from one yard to the next, chasing fireflies, playing tag, and riding our bikes. Summer evenings before the fear set in

Be home before dark our mothers would say, and just as the last light left we would run as fast as our old, beaten down sneakers would carry us home. We would burst into kitchens we left hours before. The yellow lights contrasting with the deep blue outside, our arms covered with mosquito bites, our knees bleeding from scrapes, our exhausted bodies ready for sleep.

Im not sure where the fear came from. But it crept in with the morning paper. It seeped in with 24 hour news programs that instantly re-showed the same isolated stories across the country over and over again until we thought it was a constant. It left the brave people that told stories of abuse too long hidden, but grew in the hands that made mini-series, tell-all exposes, and talk shows to exploit them. And slowly the children stayed inside in the summer, where they could always be watched, and always be safe.

We do this even though we know that most abuse happens in the home and that most abductions are with family members. We do this even though we know that things statistically really arent different then when we were children. But once the fear has taken root there is not much that will eradicate it. And the fear has left only echoes of what was childhood that I can hear on rare magic nights.