Flashback Friday -- scary memory

I am a bit uncomfortable about posting this, but it has been preying on my mind recently. The revelation of the kidnapping of Jaycee Dugard has been big news. It made me remember my fortunate escape from an incident when I was ten years old.

I was walking along Orinda Way (then called San Pablo Dam Road) on my way to Lila Murphy’s dance class rehearsal at Orinda Union Grammar School. I was carrying my leotard and ballet slippers. A black car pulled up along side of me and the man in the car leaned across the passenger seat and hailed me. “Do you want to play with my big rubber thumb?” he asked. I had no idea what he was talking about. I leaned toward the car and he showed me a flesh colored object. It did not look very interesting to me. I said, “No” and moved back away from his car. He kept talking.

I began to get scared. I told him that I was going to the school. I said, “I will scream and cry.” He said, “All right Girley,” and drove quickly away. I hurried on to the school.

When I came though the main door I saw the school principal, Mr. Sheaf, in the lobby. He was talking to a big tall sheriff in uniform. I rushed up to them and tried to get their attention. Mr. Sheaf did not look at me. I finally got up the courage to tell them that a man in a black car had stopped me. Both the principal and the sheriff looked down at me with disdain. Mr. Sheaf said, “You are making things up just to get attention.” He seemed very mad. I was mortified. I rushed to my dance rehearsal in the auditorium. I did not say a word to anyone because I was sure I had done something terribly wrong.

My parents had taught me, “The policeman is your friend,” and they had warned me about taking candy from strangers, but this incident did not seem to fit into those categories. I was puzzled. I can still describe the car (a 1940s Ford or Chevy coupe) and the man in the car (about 25 years old with dark hair) because it is such a vivid memory.

Later that day, I did not tell my parents anything about the episode. It was probably a month later that I finally told them and they were horrified. They went to the school and talked with someone, but I never heard another word about it, ever.