Skip to main content

Truth and Noise

In Talking to Strangers, Malcolm Gladwell recounts the events of the Jerry Sandusky case and lot of what has by now faded from public memory returned to mind. Once the level of noise reaches the certain level it drowns out what is actually going on. As a parent who had always been hyper-vigilant about my child when she was growing up, I would have always erred on the side of caution to keep her safe. There was the time she told me that an older man at a place she volunteered at often complimented her on her looks and her clothes. She said it made her queasy though he had never done anything- she did not feel safe around him. I remember asking her if she felt confident she could take care of herself knowing the risk because this would not be the last time she would encounter such a man - she would have to learn to navigate. Maybe this could be a relatively low-risk way for her to learn. 

J was about thirteen then and  looked very uncomfortable and clearly wanted strong direction from me.  At that moment, I decided she would not return there to volunteer anymore. That decision impacted how the rest of her school years would shape out - it turned out well for her but for another kid in other circumstances, it may not have. The man used to email her often at first and then he faded away from her life - each time she heard from him she relived that discomfort. 

If at some point there were allegations of abuse to come forward about this man and someone were to ask me what I know, I would tell what J told me back then - maybe my perception of her level of discomfort. It would not confirm anything. How a kid feels in the situation matters more than anything else, a third party observing an interaction and feeling something is amiss, also matters. But none of that may meet the legal standard of abuse. The interview with Sandusky that Gladwell includes in his audio book made for deeply uncomfortable listening even after all these years. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Part Liberated Woman

An expat desi friend and I were discussing what it means to return to India when you have cobbled together a life in a foreign country no matter how flawed and imperfect. We have both spent over a decade outside India and have kids who were born abroad and have spent very little time back home. Returning "home" is something a lot of new immigrants like L and myself think about. We want very much for that to be an option because a full assimilation into our country of domicile is likely never going to happen. L has visited India more often than I have and has a much better pulse on what's going on there. For me the strongest drag force working against my desire to return home is my experience of life as a woman in India. I neither want to live that suffocatingly sheltered existence myself nor subject J to it. The freedom, independence and safety I have had in here in suburban America was not even something I knew I could expect to have in India. I never knew what it felt t

Cheese Making

I never fail to remind J that there is a time and place for everything. It is possibly the line she will remember me by when I am dead and gone given how frequently she hears it. Instead of having her breakfast she will break into a song and dance number from High School Musical well past eight on Monday morning. She will insist that I watch and applaud the performance instead of screaming at her to finish her milk and cereal. Her sense of occasion is seriously lacking but then so is mine. Consider for example, a person walks into the grocery store with the express purpose of buying detergent because they are fresh out of it and laundry is only half way done. However instead of heading straight for detergent, they wander over to the natural foods aisle and go berserk upon finding goat milk on sale for a dollar a gallon. They at once proceed to stock pile so they can turn it to huge quantities home-made feta cheese. That person would be me. It would not concern me in the least that I ha

Under Advisement

Recently a desi dude who is more acquaintance less friend called to check in on me. Those who have read this blog before might know that such calls tend to make me anxious. Depending on how far back we go, there are sets of FAQs that I brace myself to answer. The trick is to be sufficiently evasive without being downright offensive - a fine balancing act given the provocative nature of questions involved. I look at these calls as opportunities for building patience and tolerance both of which I seriously lack. Basically, they are very desirous of finding out how I am doing in my personal and professional life to be sure that they have me correctly categorized and filed for future reference. The major buckets appear to be loser, struggling, average, arrived, superstar and uncategorizable. My goal needless to say, is to be in the last bucket - the unknown, unquantifiable and therefore uninteresting entity. Their aim is to pull me into something more tangible. So anyways, the dude in ques