Reflections
Brrr - those crazy winter winds awakened me from a deep sleep some nights ago. My active imagination saw my entire house picked up and sent sailing down the street. Okay, maybe not my house, but how about some giant pine trees that line the walks? Where I grew up, the nearest trees were blocks away. Frankly, I worried more about the lions and snakes in the nearby zoo than I did about flying trees.
I actually feel quite safe in our home environment, but friends sometimes say that we live in such dangerous times, and that our yesterdays were slower, less threatening, even idyllic. I believe we like to think that way, but I'm not sure that our memories aren't playing tricks. Living fully in New York City always meant taking some risk. Subway riding held the potential of danger, more from predatory men and exhibitionists than from kidnappers or murderers. Yet we used the subways back and forth from our homes to the larger city in Manhattan, sometimes alone, and later walked the quiet streets to reach home, annoyed only by slinking cats.
Because I grew up with a nervous mother and a protective father, my fears made me aware of possible dangers. Was someone hiding under the stairwell in the apartment house hallway? Sometimes! When there was a power failure, I ran like crazy up the two flights to our apartment. Were men in the subways out to capture an innocent girl? They sometimes acted in nasty, surreptitious ways - so maybe.
We hung out with our friends, both male and female, often near Bronx Park. We were savvy enough not to go into the park at night and we had curfews that we had to obey. When I forgot the time, it was not unusual to see my father come striding up the street. Disobeying in those days brought serious consequences.
We read about murders and depredations, but we felt safe on our own streets, even into the hot summer nights. We knew enough to stay out of neighborhoods that had bad reputations. No one in my group of friends owned a car. We rode buses and trains without much concern, often heading for the big city to enjoy Radio City Music Hall, Rockefeller Center or to shop.
Even in college, we dated, often in groups, and moved around in self-assured safety. I recall some scary incidents with young men who were not well known to me, but I felt confident that I could handle these situations. I don't remember feeling panic or real fear. It wasn't as if these situations did not hold the potential for danger; rather it was because of our own naivete about events that we had only read about in the newspapers.
Most mothers didn't work. They stayed at home and watched their children play while they gossiped and relaxed. Often parents communicated with their older children through an open window, warning them or telling them that it was dinner time. Today, parents of young children worry constantly about kidnapping, about pedophiles or others who abuse children. Did this happen when I was a child? Probably, but our parents did not speak about these problems openly. If I saw exhibitionists on the subway trains, my mother told me not to look!
In our times, fear walks beside us all too often. Gated communities, barred windows on some shops warn us about the world that is very much part of modern day living, pointed out constantly on the tube and in the newspapers. Road rage has become a familiar expression to every driver. Most of us didn't drive in those "olden" days, but there was plenty to be angry about.
The dark, wintry nights that created all these thoughts and memories are still with us. When I awoke to the tumult outside my windows the other night, the wild wind carried with it the possibilities of real disaster. Draperies moving and shadows of beckoning tree branches etched on my bedroom wall fanned fear that disturbed my dreams afterwards. My strongest reaction, however, was the realization that I was not alone. When I shared my fear with Howard, the shadows stopped their ghostly dance, and the hurricane-force winds no longer brought up strange images.
I feel safe again, able to push back the fear that stalks my mind with old memories. When morning comes, I greet the new day with the comfortable dilemma: What shall I have for breakfast this morning? Being safe often means being loved - just as much a way to vanquish fear as it was in the past.
Charlotte K. Jarmy , a Los Altos resident, supervises teachers at Stanford University and is a free-lance writer.