I'm flabbergasted, that I still remember the very first house I lived in with my mother and brother. I have vivid memories about living on Fedora Street in Koreatown for my first 6-years of life. I used to play with a little girl named Patricia, but was never allowed in her home. No problem with "that." It's just something I recall. She used to sneak across the street to play with me because she wasn't supposed to leave her front yard. Needless to say, her parents were very strict.
At "this" time of my life I didn't know much about differences in culture or "that" any divide existed between various ethnic groups.
I'm
really blessed being alive and having the ability to blog. I reflect back to my childhood and think heavily about a particular incident where nothing, but
GOD kept me from becoming an abducted child. Patricia and I, were almost victims of kidnap. On one afternoon, we both snuck around the corner on our Big Wheel tricycles. "This" was also during the era of the "night-stalker" who was a serial killer on the loose in Los Angeles.
We were halfway around the block when an old white man in a station wagon pulled up alongside us. I'm not sure about Patricia, but I don't recall knowing better than to talk to strangers so when he stopped and spoke to us I responded. He pushed his passenger door open and asked me to come closer. I got off of my tricycle and I remember telling Patricia to come, but she stayed put on her tricycle and shook her head no.
As I approached his vehicle, he pulled out his private part and asked me if I wanted to touch "it." I remember being afraid and telling him no as I began to step back. I was actually close enough for him to grab me if he had done so instead of grabbing himself. He asked me if I wanted to go for a ride and I said no. Patricia beckoned me to get back onto my tricycle and we screamed as we peddled away as quickly as we could, returning back around the corner from which we came. The man didn't follow us. He proceeded forward and we never saw him again.
Thank GOD!!!
We told our parents and I remember my family being pretty frantic about the ordeal. They thought the man might have been the "night-stalker." He wasn't him, but still a pedophile. Although, I described him above by skin color and age, based upon my memory. I don't hold his actions towards me against any other old white man. Unfortunately, I've experienced other similar scenarios during my teen year, even some as an adult and guess what? The men involved weren't white.
Individuals should be held accountable for their actions and not be deemed as representatives for their entire ethnic group. "This" kind of grouping is unjust, invalid and ignorant.
"This" experience is one I just haven't forgotten. All the news stories I've heard and read about regarding child abductions takes me back to "that" memory. "It" causes me to be very overprotective with my children.
With so much else going on in the world, it's pretty unbelievable how some people choose to focus on the color of someone's skin and/or their past. My childhood friend Patricia was Korean. I grew aware of "this" fact long after we moved out of "that" neighborhood. "It" was never an issue and still today, "that" isn't what I remember most. I remember her being a wise little girl and perhaps, saving my life by knowing better than to talk to strangers. Had she be in agreeance with me, I may not have ever seen today.
