Worried for my mom in a rapidly changing world

Street smart. 

The dictionary defines it as “having the experience and knowledge necessary to deal with the potential difficulties or dangers of life in an urban environment."

Growing up on a dairy farm in the 1970s and early '80s, I didn’t need a lot of street smarts. The town I was bussed into for school had its typical share of problems — petty crime, petty drugs, drunken bar fights — but, for the most part, no real dangers to speak of. I knew everyone in a 15-kilometre radius of my family farm and everyone knew my parents. In town, it was much the same. Families knew each other. We didn’t lock house doors (except at night) and left keys in vehicles the whole time I was growing up. There were never any bad things that happened. 

I moved to a large city for college and it was there I began my urban street smart education. Parking in well-lit areas, walking with my keys in hand, being aware of my surroundings. There were no cellphones in the '80s (if there were, they were not readily accessible), so being aware of both my surroundings and who was in them became habit. Routine. Still, being young in this city, in the '80s, meant freedom. A whole table of people hitting the dancefloor and leaving drinks alone was not dangerous. There would be no spiking of drinks while we were gone. Leaving a bar alone. Going into a parkade alone. I didn’t think twice about any of it.

As the world changed and I aged, things began to shift in the world I knew. I began to make sure I went with a friend to a club, parked with a friend and left together at the end of the night. Someone always stayed at the table when the rest went dancing and there were more parts of the city I avoided. 

When I met and married My Favourite Husband (MFH) in the late '90s, no longer was it safe to leave a garage or vehicle unlocked. Cellphones became common place but it didn’t make the world safer, it just meant help might be easier to get.

I’ve been street smart for a long time now and, with the death of MFH, even more so. My first call for help (after 911) is no longer him and it may take longer to connect with someone to get that help. I wish it didn’t have to be this way but I accept that it is. Gangs, homeless population, people who thieve — I’ve been aware of them and work hard at keeping my avoidance tactics and self-defence tactics sharp.

That’s me, though. I can take care of myself to the best of my ability. Then there’s my mom. 

I visited with her recently and we had a conversation that shook me deeply, although I worked hard not to show it.

After my dad died 22 years ago, my mom stayed on the farm. Eventually, living in the country became harder and she decided to move to town. Town is relative — the place she lives was a town when I was growing up but has been a city — and a fast-growing one — for many years. 

She’s been in town now for 10 years and lives in her own home in an older, established neighbourhood that has an elementary school across the street. It’s a safe neighborhood; one where the neighbours know each other and look out for each other. 

But, like any other city, town is developing big-city problems — problems my mom has never had to consider. 

We began chatting about what’s new in her neighbourhood and she immediately launched into what’s happening. Homeless people in the neighbourhood. Her first story was about a neighbour who was working in her garden in the backyard and had left her front door unlocked. She went into her house to find a “homeless guy” wandering her kitchen with a golf club in hand. 

Apparently he was hungry and, after the neighbour gave him a couple of bananas, she was able to convince him to leave. She called the cops right after and they advised her to lock her doors, especially if she wasn’t in the house. 

After my mom finished her story, she vehemently said: “He would’ve got nothing from me!" I waited for a moment, inhaled and said, “Mom, he had a golf club. He could’ve hit you with it. I know you wouldn’t want to feed him but, if you did the same thing, it might be the best way to get him to leave." She thought about it and offered no comment either way. 

I then went on to ask her: “Mom, do you keep your doors locked?" She said her front door is always locked but sometimes the main door to her garage is open and the back door as well. I asked her if she planned to change that — keep doors locked so no one had access to either — and she said yes. Hesitantly though. Because this is not her world. 

Her next story was about neighbours who were leaving for lunch. The gentleman had opened the overhead garage door from the house. His wife went to the garage to get into the vehicle only to find an individual parking his bike in the garage. She asked why he was there and he asked for water. She went back into the house, got him water (and told her husband about him) and, when he said he was going into their backyard to drink it, told him he couldn’t as they were leaving 

I asked my mom if she would tell anyone she was leaving and she said, “No, I don’t think so." 

My mom is a super smart woman. She’s strong and capable, generous and kind. And she’s not naive about the world. She knows that the world is made up of people who are both good and bad. But my mom also tries to see the good in everyone and, while I know she’d want to help, I hope she would also use her calm temperament to extract herself from situations like these.

I’m sad that, at 81, my mom has to learn street smarts. I’m sad that she has to change her routine to be safe in a town that’s generally always been safe. But, like everything else that’s been thrown her way, I am confident that she can and will be.

Like daughter, like mother.