Street walker

On Wednesday evening, there were two related segments on As It Happens (CBC Radio 1's evening current event show) that were of particular interest. The first, was an interview with a woman from small-town Mississippi who recently had a run-in with the law. The reason? She had let her 10-year-old boy walk to baseball practice.* The walk was along a residential street, in daylight hours, and was about a kilometer long. The woman, whose name I forget, was given a warning by police after they had been called by concerned neighbours. The companion piece was an interview with a scientist in the UK who had studied several generations of a single rural family to see whether 'freedom to roam' effected their sense of direction. While 'grandpa' had been allowed to roam far and wide as long as he was home by supper, by the time we reach the present generation, the 'grandchild' is not even allowed to cross the street. The scientist, again, my memory for names is rather limited, had drawn a link between a child's ability to discover their natural environment and their sense of direction as an adult. It turns out, grandpa had an excellent sense of direction yet this skill has weakened with each subsequent generation.

I have a good sense of direction. It is one of the only aspects of myself that I am unabashedly proud of. I believe it has helped me to be at home in various places in the world. I am at ease because I know, in a sense, where I am.

I was also given the freedom to roam as a child. I remember the first time I crossed a street by myself: my mother stood on the balcony, in a brown poncho, encouraging me, 'no cars, no cars', she cried as I took my hesitant first steps onto the street. I was so proud of myself. I was maybe five. By ten, I was taking city buses with friends to go to school. The rest, as they say, is history.

So put 9-1-1 into your speed dial, neighbours. My boy is going to be out on these city streets. I hope that one day, he too, will have a good sense of direction.


*I once read that good writing requires no exclamation marks but boy-oh-boy, I would use one here.