Article September 2, 2002 Issue

I CALL IT Preemptive Parenting

By Sara Hunter

When I Was About Nine Years Old, I was walking home from a piano lesson along a rural road, when a man tried to talk me into getting into his car.

When he spoke to me, two things happened. First, a family friend happened to drive down this deserted road and stopped to see if I was OK. At the same time, I heard a shout and looked into the distance to see my mother, with all three of my younger siblings bundled in snowsuits, waving and uncharacteristically coming to meet me. The man immediately drove away.

I don't believe those were just coincidences.