I grew up in a quiet, nice suburban neighborhood in Northern California in the 1960's. Being a "baby boomer," there were lots of kids on our street; we were always outside playing together, and nothing really bad ever happened except for the time one of the boys lost his eye in a TOY bow-and-arrow accident and a few kids got razored apples on Halloween. The youngest of three girls, with my sisters being 9 and 13 years older than I, I was in effect an "only child" and usually accompanied my parents everywhere. However, one hot afternoon, when I was 10 years old and starting to assert my independence. I decided to kick around the house while Mom and Dad were at the store. They were gone only 20 minutes when there was a knock on the front door. Assuming it was one of my playmates, I answered it without hesitation. To my surprise, a strange young man in shorts, about 20, almost barged through the door as soon as I opened it. "Is Aunt______here?" he blurted."WHO?!?" I sputtered incredulously. He repeated himself, claiming that his aunt lived in our house! He described his last visit about a couple years before. "No," I said, "We've been here 5 years. You must have the wrong address." I went to shut the door, but he insisted he was right. He was trying to see behind me as he argued, and kept getting closer and closer. Frightened, I told him to leave, slammed the door, and locked it, feeling stupid for even giving him the time of day. I sensed he was some pervert or burglar they'd warned us about in school. After that ordeal, I clearly deserved another popsicle. I was just opening the fridge when I heard the garage door off the kitchen open and hit the ceiling like a crack of thunder. Thank God, my parents were back! But to my astonishment, it was the strange young man. In a split second he was struggling to open the kitchen door, only a foot away from me. Paralyzed with fear, I gawked at him through the upper glass panel. The only thing between he and I was a flimsy little hook latch, which mercifully held. Suddenly, he noticed me and walked off, disappearing down the street. Another 20 minutes later my parents got home, and I nervously rattled what had happened. They called the police, but it was too late to track the guy, especially with no car. They cautioned us to keep all doors and windows locked (as if we needed to be told!) and to call them AS SOON AS POSSIBLE UPON ANY CRIME. We questioned the neighbors about his possible identity, but no one knew what to say. He never came back, and I never did find out anything about him; however, a 12 year old girl was raped in her own backyard in a similar incident in our small community the same year. Eleven years later, while I was away as a University of California student, my parents' Las Vegas home was robbed and an 18-diamond, platinum antique dinner ring stolen (worth $10,000, it was part of my own inheritance), along with a collector's camera, silverware, and a few other valuables. At the time, Mom was babysitting just across the street and my father had stepped out briefly, again, to get a couple things at the store; both of them were gone only a half hour. During this period, my mother spied a car she THOUGHT she recognized in the driveway. Two teenaged boys got out, and she assumed Dad, who was helping someone start a new pizza parlour, had company. However, she missed seeing the culprits exit. The police concluded the theives had entered with a credit card through the laundry room, which had no deadbolt lock. Unfortunately, no one was able to proove it was the people Mom thought she saw. The items were never recovered, and my folks were able to collect only $500 from their home insurance. After my father died, my elderly mother, who didn't want to be alone in another state, moved in with me. I immediately signed her up at the Senior Citizens' Recreation Center so that she could meet people her own age; we have wonderful services here which even offer a free lunch and SHUTTLE that transports members to the facility from their own homes. Mom had been enjoying her attendance perhaps a month when one day, getting dressed after a shower, I heard her talking to someone outside while waiting for the bus, which usually arrived within a half hour. Curious, I peeked through the Venetian blinds from my two-story apartment window. I was astounded to see a young man in a classic red Mustang convertible pressuring her to get into the car! "Looks like your bus isn't coming," he cajoled. "Let ME take you there. It's right on my way." My mother at 70 years old was as outgoing as ever, but this time her trust was getting her in trouble; it worried me the way she was too friendly with this suspicious stranger. "Mister!" I yelled out the window, using the sharpest tone I could muster, "She doesn't need a ride, OKAY?!" Apparently startled that I was watching, he nodded and sped away. I quickly called 911. Although the officer took down my report, he had little hope of finding the man because I was unable to get a LICENSE PLATE number. "I was concerned he might kidnap her before I could get some clothes on," I explained. "I had to put her safety first." #767) How it changed my life:Because of these and other experiences, I am never embarassed if someone says I'm being "PARANOID" for keeping all ground floor doors locked at all times, NOR ashamed about any COMPULSIVE SNACKING!
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