Domestic violence

Now and again, I find myself ponder about the most unexpected issues. Unexpected because my mind works in ways which constantly take me by surprise; it finds food for thoughts and create associations from the strangest sources.

Some times it is happy thoughts, which make me wander about with a silly grin on my face, other times they drive me mad because of the reruns; just can’t get it off my mind. (Songs, the beat and the lyrics, do that to me a lot!) I twist and turn around the subject, try to see it from a different point of view, just to make sure my prejudices don’t kick in. I know I have them, you see, but I am not happy about it.

The other day a picture appeared on facebook, which made me think. One of these disturbing ones which just gives a hint to a problem there is no obvious solution to.

We call it: Domestic violence.

Violence and abuse are not condoned as legal anywhere, as far as I know (apart from those twisted, extreme groupings, isolated from society, lacking just cause), but there is something forgiving about assault when we can call it domestic.

I can’t help but thinking the whole consept of calling it domestic is just so totally wrong. We like our own privacy, and therefore hesitate to interfere in what we see and/or hear goes on in our neighbour’s house. Still, privacy is not the same thing as amnesty to break down other people, just because they are unfortunate enough to live in the same house as you do.

The victims are children, women and men, who inhabit a profound loyalty based upon love and belonging. Powerful feelings in itself, even more so when added threats and reassurances. Often they refuse the fact they are victims, because they love him/her/them, or "...but it's my dad/mum..."

When abuse is finally out in the open and the extent is gradually unveiled, people who knew about what was going on, come forward and tell about what they have seen and heard. Very seldom they express any remorse they did not contact anyone to report their concern. BUT, they have found it disturbing for quite some time.

Feeling pangs of conscience can be very uncomfortable, what an ease it must be when someone else finally blows the whistle.

We think that victims should speak up for themselves, we do not want to take on the responsibility for their safety and wellbeing.

Maybe we think we protect our own privacy, maybe we think we will be perceived as peeping Toms, maybe we are afraid that others will mistrust our integrity, maybe we just want to make sure we are right and wait off and see IF it might happen again, one more time, just in case we are wrong.

I don’t know why we are so reluctant to speak up on behalf of someone living under worrying conditions; I just know that somehow we must change the way we think and act in order to protect victims of abuse. The outcome of ongoing domestic violence is far too often too severe, and unpredictable, for us to look the other way, for too long.

A failing mum....? Or?

It is freezing cold outside. Today, as I drove to work, we had -10 degrees celsius. And that is cold! Especially when we don’t have snow.

Funny thing that: same temperature often feels different, depending on snow/no snow, wind, sun, humidity... The sky is clear, not a cloud in sight, and it is really lovely outside, but it is cold.
With such cold weather, and no snow, the ponds and lakes freeze and it is really perfect conditions for ice skating.

As soon as the ice is declared safe we turn up in great numbers to enjoy skating.

When I grew up, we never skated. Fjords have tide, and the ice is not safe (even though I have been told about a winter 65 years ago, or so), but we had a couple of lakes with safe skating ice. I never had skates, and it was relatively far, so I never did any skating.

My kids do, though. They love it! And I have taught them how to skate by helping them put on the skates, tell them to have fun and push them out there. I never reveal my insecurity or disability and I think my fake confidence is part of what makes them try and master.

So, last Sunday I defied the cold, sacrificed my afternoon reading a good book while drinking a nice mug of tea, indoors, in my lovely, warm lounge (so what if it never happens because situations occure; a girl can have dreams, right?) and went to the lake just a kilometre from our house.
The lake was swarmed with people of all ages: from young children learning to skate while pushing crates for support, to older men and women swirling across the ice with easy elegance.

We could hear the buzz and the outbursts of joyful laughter as we approached the rocky beach. Bonfires were lit to grill hotdogs and to provide some warmth to those getting too cold.

We had a wonderful time. Even though my kids are still learning they enjoyed it a lot! No complains and no sulking, which is rare when failing, they just kept on trying.
After some time my youngest kid felt the pain only untrained legs can feel. Since his older brother wanted to keep on skating, we took his skates off and played on the ice wearing boots.

A woman I know asked if her son could borrow the skates, as she had not bought him skates yet. I told her we were soon to head off home, but she promised to return them on her way home.

The look on her kid’s face, full of expectation, made me agree. It would have felt so totally wrong to deny him the experience, the fun, my own kid had had.
Her son was so eager and full of excitement as I helped him put on the skates, that my heart just burst with good will, pleased I did the right thing for this kid.

A couple of hours later, I was not so pleased anymore. She didn’t return the skates: she sent me a text telling me she had lent the skates on. I called her and asked who had them, and she told me she only knew the woman’s first name and didn’t know where she lived. I guess (hope) she was just captured by the moment of circumstances.
So, long story put short: I had to promise my 6-year old I would buy him new skates the next day. Yes, I did, against better knowledge.

In the first sports store I went to, the staff just snorted and gave a quick laugh when I asked if they had skates. They were sold out early Saturday morning. They even had to call in extra help to get the sales done within reasonable time and keep the queue moving.

In the second sports store I went to, I did find a skate the right size... but only the one. I told the clerk he had only single skates left, no pairs, and they were all different sizes or the same left foot (he was NOT pleased when he found out I was right).

In the third sports store I went to, they only had skates left costing a hole in the ground, and then some. I had no idea how expencive skates can be. Paying $1000,- for a pair of skates was really out of the question, no matter how disappointed my kid would get.

I tried all the sports stores in town, and then I went to all the toystores. No skates were to be found...

I was about to give up, feeling like the worst mum ever, when I suddenly remembered that the really big grocery stores have sports departments.

Time of miracles are not over yet: I found a pair.

When I found them, I thought they were the most beautiful, black leatherboot skates I had ever laid eyes on. I almost cried with relief; not only did I not have to cope with a furious fit of disappointment, I also got to keep my promise.

I hate to disappoint my kids, I like to keep my promises, and it was I who had made the stupid mistake of “giving” the skates to someone I didn’t know too well.

Thing is... even when knowing what I know now, I am not so sure I would say no to lending someone the skates, if asked again.