How Safe, Really, Can We Keep Our Children?

On April 5, 1984, I was 15 years old, going on 16. I was a busy high school sophomore, well-liked but not popular; awkward in that typical teenage way; not unattractive, but not the kind of girl guys would give a second look.

Two thousand miles away, Tina Faelz was 14, going on 15.

On our walks home from school, she from one side of the freeway in Pleasanton to the other, and I from Winnetka, Ill., to the neighboring town of Kenilworth, neither of us could call home if we left a little later than usual or made a slight detour.

There was a window of time in which a child was expected home. Half an hour on either side of 3 p.m. allowed me time for a study session, a trip to the library, a milkshake at the local ice cream shop, or a chat with a friend. If my mom was out on an errand, I might arrive home and finish an hour of homework before she returned, thus widening the time-frame to two hours.

No one worried.

But the apparent end to the this week forced me think twice.

Only in the past six months have I begun to let the leash out for my middle school-aged children. The kids still have restrictions and guidelines. And across the board, these guidelines are stricter now than they were when I was a teenager.

As parents in this era of information, we have a tendency to think that children are at greater risk now more than ever because of the Internet and the continuous information stream.

We are not mistaken in our thinking; due to cyberspace, bullying and other crimes against children have escalated to levels we couldn’t have imagined when we were coming of age.

But when stories such as the Tina Faelz tragedy are brought to the forefront, I’m forced to wonder about statistics of crimes against children:

Are children in greater danger now than in the 80s, given modern technologies and the continuous cycle of information? Or are the crimes similar, but we are now more aware, given the continuous media stream?

On Apr. 5, 1984, two hours after I walked one of my three possible routes home from school, Tina Faelz’s family mourned their daughter’s mysterious, tragic death by brutal stabbing.

Meanwhile, kids across the country that day walked home through suburban environments similar to Tina’s. I had walked alone, just like Tina.

I either passed under the lowering gates of the commuter train tracks, or dodged around the cement supports of the viaduct down the hill from school, or cut through an empty field and ran along the tracks to get to the ice cream shop a few blocks from my house, despite police warnings to the contrary – the same kinds of warnings Pleasanton police gave kids who used the old culvert under Interstate 680 when walking home.

My walk home through Chicago’s version of suburban serenity was not without risk. But people didn’t worry. It’s the way things were.

Of course, I heard lectures about running to the closest house for help if I felt uncomfortable around a stranger, and I was firmly instructed to leave a note if I changed my plans.

So, surely, was Tina Faelz. Tina’s mom, according to a Pleasanton Weekly article published in 2008, kept lines of communication open with her daughter.

But it turns out, according to the in Tina’s case, that Tina was killed by someone she knew.

What then? How does a parent protect a child when directives to keep personal information private and not speak with strangers don’t apply?

What are the best ways to protect children and still allow them to spread their wings?

We talk; we listen. We support each other; we look out for each other’s children. We look for the inherent good in people, but we hope that our law enforcement can either detain persons who may be dangerous to children, or lock up offenders and prevent them from hurting others, as happened this week in Pleasanton.

And we remain vigilant as communities; we stick together and support each other without blame or judgment.