Jaycee Dugard

Jaycee Dugard at 11 yrs old

This past week, I’ve watched a miracle unfold.  A child kidnapped at the age of 11 was found. Alive.  And did I mention that it’s been 18 years since she was taken?

You have probably heard the story of Jaycee Dugard by now.  It’s an amazing, sad and wonderful tale all at the same time. Jaycee Dugard was snatched off the streets of Lake Tahoe, California in 1991.  Years of searching and investigations led to nothing.  Then, her kidnapper was seen on the campus of UC Berkeley with two children and appeared suspicious to the UCB cop who spotted them.  Due to her intuition and the followup of the man’s parole officer, he admitted to kidnapping the young girl in 1991.

What Jaycee has been through is heartbreaking, and the miracle for her discovery is remarkable.   In the years she was with her kidnappers, she lived in shacks and tents in the backyard of their property.  She bore two children (when she was still a child herself) to the man who kidnapped her.  Those children have never been to a doctor, to school.   My heart goes out to Jaycee and her children, and I pray that they are able to find a way to build a normal life.

And oddly enough, this topic–and my post today– was on my mind before Jaycee’s story broke.  Just last week, my son and I went out to run errands.  We went to the bank, to Target, to the grocery store and a few other places, and because he was being so good, we stopped at Baskin and Robbins for a scoop of ice cream.  Everywhere we went, everyone we saw, he waved and said hello.  He smiled his beautiful little boy grin and charmed the pants off of everyone.

And it made me think.

When am I supposed to tell him not to talk to strangers?  When am I supposed to tell him that there are bad people out there and that he needs to be cautious?  I love that he lives in a safe and secure world right now, where every person he sees is just a friendly face.  I love that he doesn’t see the parts of the world yet that as parents (and writers) we know exist — the bad and the pure ugly.

Jaycee was eleven years old when she was snatched by a stranger.  My son is three.  The thought of him being taken…well, like any parent, it’s my worst nightmare.  I want to protect him, I want to keep him safe and I will do whatever it takes to keep him safe.  And yet I mourn the fact that I have to do that. There are so many ways that children grow up in an instant.  Mistakes are made and they lose a little of their childhood.  Parents divorce, people die, pets die, and so many other things that start to chip away at the innocent, uncomplicated light in their eyes.

When the day comes, I have to assume I will know it’s right and I will tell him to be safe. I will tell him what he needs to know.  I do wonder… after that, the next time we are running errands,  instead of offering a big “Hi!” and a wave to every person he sees, will he act differently?  Will he feel different?   Compared to the tragedies that would face him if he wasn’t aware, though, it’s a small price to pay.