Lessons in Fear, Trust for a Mom and Her Son
When my son Jacob was a newborn, I fantasized about being his guide to the world. I would show him special places, introduce him to special people.
I would show him our back yard, its squishy worms, jumpy squirrels and tall grass for clumsy little fists to clutch. We would explore the beach with fine sand to pat and pour and mold into castles.
And along the way, we would meet many people.
But Jacob, like most babies, feared new people. It took much coaxing from me, but gradually Jacob overcame his anxiety around strangers and found comfort in other warm bodies--bodies with different smells and contours than his father’s and mine.
He soon learned to trust the swaying motion his grandmother used to comfort him and the soft voice of a close family friend.
When he was almost nine months old, I left Jacob with his first “stranger,” a Colombian woman who was thrilled to baby-sit my little boy, despite his wails when I pried him from my arms and put him into hers.
“Don’t worry,” Beatrice said, as I brushed away a few tears of my own. “He’ll be like son to me.”
Two weeks later, Beatrice decorated her small apartment with brightly colored balloons in honor of Jacob’s 9-month birthday. When we arrived, Jacob thrust his chubby arms out towards Beatrice and gave me a gummy grin as I left.
Many more positive encounters with foreign faces over the years have helped my son shed his stranger anxiety with abandon. He’s 3 years old now, and his favorite activity is to find some unsuspecting man-on-the-street to lure into a one-sided conversation.
The other day as we were waiting for the train to take us to a downtown festival, Jacob found his man--a rather rough-looking character who smoked cigarette after cigarette while peering into the distance with a scowl.
“I’m going to get my face painted,” Jacob told him and went on to describe how he wanted to have a rainbow with his favorite color, black, painted on his forehead.
When that didn’t generate much response, Jacob resorted to some basic attention-getting games. He popped out from behind a post every so often and yelled “peek-a-boo” at the man, who continued to smoke cigarettes but relaxed his frown from time to time in response to Jacob’s antics.
As much as I’ve empathized with Jacob’s victims of conversation, I’ve always admired his ability to explore new faces without fear and make friends wherever he goes. Unlike many of my acquaintances’ children who ignore the entreaties of strangers, Jacob appears to welcome whatever anyone has to offer him.
And that’s what worries me.
Two days before last Halloween, a 4-year-old blond boy with dimples disappeared from a local playground, where he was playing with his 9-year-old brother.
Three days later they found his nude body, face up, in some brush several miles from where he was last seen. Like Jacob, the victim, Lee Iseli, was gregarious and made friends with anyone who came his way, including a local shopkeeper who brushed back tears while saying, “I’m going to miss my little buddy,” our newspaper reported.
At first, I tried to convince myself that this was some isolated incident, not likely to be repeated, especially not with my son. But who could ignore those smiling faces pasted on every milk carton underlined by the words, “Last seen . . . “
And what well-intentioned parents can’t remember a time when they left their small child alone outside “for just a few minutes” while they tended to some task. With lunatics on the loose, like Iseli’s last “friend,” I began to regret all the encouragement I had given Jacob to be open to strangers.
But how does one explain to a 3-year-old why I’ve changed my stance on how he should act towards people he doesn’t know?
In my fantasies as my child’s guide to the world, I never imagined myself showing him the dangerous slums of the human psyche.
We were going to meet magicians not murderers, daffodils, not death. How can I explain to him why a stranger would harm a smiling 4-year-old when it’s something I don’t understand myself?
I did sit down, however, with my blond, dimpled son--an Iseli look-alike--and briefly told him the situation. A little boy was playing in a playground, I said. A stranger took the little boy away in his car and then hurt him. That’s why you shouldn’t talk to strangers, I concluded with a sigh.
“Don’t worry, Mommy,” Jacob replied. “If the bad man tries to take me away, I’ll push him.” As if one push from Jacob’s small arms could keep all the evil away! I realized then that, although I could be more vigilant and make sure Jacob was in my sight at all times, eventually as he grew older, Jacob would be at the mercy of strangers, good and bad. As his tour guide, I could only introduce him to the world, not be by his side at every moment. I shuddered to think of what might lie in his path as he explores the world without me. I felt helpless, worried and afraid. A severe attack of stranger anxiety.
