A Writer's Closet

Welcome to the weird flotsam of a writer's mind . . .

Location: Southern California

Friday, November 25, 2005

It takes a village. . .

It took me nine years of motherhood but I finally understand the saying "It takes a village to raise a child." I was at the movies with my son and a mature lady with a small boy, maybe four years old, sat next to us. I assumed she was grandma. During the film the boy needed to go to the bathroom and without even looking at him she said, "Go on, just follow the exit signs."

Now, my son is nine and I have a problem letting him out of my sight in a public place. This poor child went to the end of the ramp, looked around in bewilderment, then promptly went out the exit door to the street. Grandma never looked at him once. I leaned over and barked, "Ma'am, your child just went outside." To her credit she jumped up immediately and brought him back in, but if I hadn't warned her she'd have had no idea where he was.

I've often wondered if I should lighten up a little with my son, then I see what happens in the world. Many accidents are simply tragic but when I see a completely innattentive adult, my blood boils. This is how kids get kidnapped and killed and it is absolutely preventable.


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