Safe

Before I forget.

PTSD … a paranoid person is a person who ‘feels’ unsafe. They don’t have the innocence of someone that has not had ‘that’ happen to them… they didn’t see it coming, and/or they never knew such a thing was possible.

Flashback: that man on the bus when I was about 13 years old maybe? – I was travelling home from downtown alone, on a bus. I didn’t know at the time what he had in mind for me. In truth, I still don’t know, right? But he did in fact follow me off the bus!

My inner voice… my intuition? Spoke to me, and I listened… I was at the front of the bus, and as Adler (it has now been divulged to me) has said, being interested in others, I frequently “scanned the room” I have done this “something” for as long as I can remember… I look at folks and try to figure out their story… why are they alone, or tired, or… maybe it was an instinct more basic to human DNA? Scan the immediate surroundings for friends and foes.

This man, I discovered, was staring at me, from the back of the bus. He was in the back corner, directly behind the driver, only 12 rows back.

I didn’t know! But I wondered.

This is back in the days before cell phones.

It never occurred to me to tell the bus driver I felt unsafe? I don’t know! Did I feel unsafe?!? (Bus drivers in Winnipeg: “pop that gum one more time kid! and I’ll shove it down your throat” was my experience up to that point)

My stop was coming up.

Vimy Road.

• School Road
• Wharton Blvd
• Vimy Road
• Parkhill St.

Looking at the map, I was travelling west on Portage Avenue, on a Winnipeg Transit bus. I was once again in my own neighborhood, a suburb of Winnipeg. Coming out of the down town area. It’s a trip I’d taken often, “all my short life” with my dad, with my brothers… and alone. It was already dark outside.

I came up with a plan. I knew there was a pay phone right near the bus stop at Parkhill St, did I have a dime? I must have, it’s now 50 years later that I wonder about that. Because then I didn’t give that even a passing thought.

• Ring the bus chime (now wait a friggin’ minute!!! We called it the BELL…) as though I’m getting off at School Road.
• Get up as if I’m indeed going to do so… and stand near front door exit
• If man goes to back door, and pushes the gate to open the door… I will pause a bit before disembarking (ok! Last chance! Use a child’s vernacular!!!) ok ok ok… before getting off… and make up an excuse apologize to the historically grumpy bus driver type… and sit down again,

Ok… so you’ll have to believe me, this plan may have evolved a little less slow motion…

I did as planned (above) and when the man realized I’d faked him out? He began running west along the roadside toward the next stop … each a block apart.

I rang the bell for Parkhill St, got off, went to the pay phone, called my Mum with the deadly info, myself not even realizing the gravity of my words, on my mum. I’d later learn that her own PTSD was size huge.

“A man is trying to catch me?” Or “a man on the bus, he’s following me…” I honestly don’t know what I said. We lived straight down Vimy, about a mile.

I ran into the back alley behind the shoe repair shoppe, and backtracked east across to Vimy, and saw the man, who had seen my actions, heading for Vimy and/or the alley.

I ran along between the parked cars and the curb on the southbound side of the street, my Mum would be coming from the north.

She arrived, I jumped in, SAFE! Homeward bound.

~~~~

Is it possible to unravel all that’s there?

I didn’t know what grown men might wanting to do with cute young boys.

I did know about robbery and murder…

We Need to be a Safe Place

Bus drivers in Winnipeg: “pop that gum one more time kid! and I’ll shove it down your throat” were not an inviting bunch.” I’d been sitting behind the bus driver, close to safety?

<Insert LAUGH OUT LOUD ROLLING ON THE FLOOR emoji here>

I had some bubble gum in my chops, and I was thrilled with the loud popping sound it made! Hold the gum between lips and teeth after flattening it into a small disc, suck backwards while pressing gum btwn teeth, lips/gums… and SNAP! Over and over and over again as oblivious children are want to do! Suddenly I hear it: “snap that gum one more time kid…”

My Mum is as such a place, though. What if my Dad has answered? IDK but she did. No need to “sell” her on my theory… it was a swift negotiation and etc.

• 1) don’t break the child’s spirit
• 2) come along side the child, alongside of their own inner voice, and help them reflect on possible outcomes of their actions and words.
• 3) help them understand plausible ones vs. Far fetched ones

That inner sanctuary is all they’ll have.

The same is true, if not all the more so, when you happen to “see them” engaging in a behaviour YOU might be triggered by… keep your perspective out of it for now!

Sometimes it’s a case of, “hey, you might wanna have your bedroom door closed bud!” Nuff said for now.

This brings to my mind a harsh memory.

A friend of mine once shared this with me:

<My eldest son was experiencing some bully in our neighborhood. We lived in a townhouse condominium complex. The other children, some one had irked him – he came into the house, passed by me (as though I were furniture) and after opening the kitchen drawer, took out a long, pointy bread knife, and headed back outside… “hey, little buddy! What’s up?”

“Yolanda’s buggin’ me!”

ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING! I gently took the weaponized kitchen utensil from his hand, returned it to the drawer, and introduced him to the fine art of charming his fellow creatures… by having a little talk with them all.

I was terrified! Right or wrong, I never told anyone about my psycho son’s actions! For that was my conclusion! He never knew that’s what I thought, and thankfully he’s never taken such a route… since.>

Back to my Mum now.

My Mum revealed to me, many years later, that a trusted person, in fact, the person she should have been able to trust most in the whole wide world, had behaved, well, he had violated her trust, removed her innocence, and when she turned to the other – arguably the most trustworthy one since her mother was blood, and her step-dad was not – she scorned her daughter, and called her a hussy!

Speaking of ringing a bell!!! What a phone call to get from her barely pubescent son, at night!

My Dad? He taught me to brush my teeth, comb my hair, trim my finger nails, carry a house key, and pocket money with me!