Friday, October 4, 2013

The Adam Walsh Effect

It happened at a baseball game this past spring.  My husband and I arrived early at the park when Joe noticed all the kids lining up for photos.  He asked why I had not brought any order forms or even the checkbook. I mumbled something about Danny forgetting his hat and Jack not combing his hair, so what was the point of pictures? Then I shrugged my shoulders in feigned defeat.

Joe wasn't buying it.

I have pretty much ordered pictures whenever there are pictures to be ordered. I also posses dozens of photo albums chronicling every moment of my children's young lives.

Photos are my thing.

Except those posed baseball ones.

Joe hastily dug through his wallet, found enough cash for the minimum order, and borrowed another kid's baseball hat before shoving the boys in the general direction of the photographer.

"We can't not order their baseball pictures!" he insisted, eyeing me suspiciously.

When the photos arrived a month or so later, my stomach dropped:



In a rare moment of familial unity, all three boys cooperated and looked great.  But that was never the issue.

The photos, just like every childhood baseball photo I have ever seen, reminded me of Adam Walsh.

As someone who grew up in the wake of the 1981 kidnapping and murder of little Adam, the image of the sweet little boy smiling from beneath his too-big baseball hat has haunted me for 30 years.  This baseball picture was widely circulated throughout the media at the time of the kidnapping, and for many mothers, it served as a reminder to hold tightly to their kids and trust nobody.

As a mother now, I have forced myself to shake off some of my Adam Walsh fears.  I realized that I needed to allow my boys to use public restrooms without screaming "EVERYTHING OKAY IN THERE?" every 10 seconds.  I needed to learn to let them cross the street without my all-clear.  I needed to fight the urge to homeschool them whenever I read a story of a shooting or child predator.

I started relying on statistical data and odds relative to stranger abductions in this quest.  For the first time ever, I have consciously suppressed my helicopter tendencies.  Most days, it is physically painful, but I am determined to ease up or I know my children will end up fleeing to Alaska to escape me.

I must say, though, this thing would be a whole lot easier if our last name wasn't Walsh. 

And if my husband didn't insist on buying those damn baseball pictures.  

26 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. It's funny how things leave an impression on you, Danni.

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  2. Wow...and I thought having a department meeting today was depressing....

    -Glum In Central IL

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  3. Handsome boys in those pictures up there. I rarely buy the photos, but not for the same reason as you. I'm just cheap.
    I remember the Adam Walsh story vividly, too. For me, it's the videos of when my kids were little. I can't watch those without thinking of the drunk driving PSAs. Makes me want to wrap them in bubble wrap.

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  4. Don't hurt me but I must be too young to remember Adam (81, I was 4)
    But here's the other way to look at it, just imagine how treasured every photo of Adam is to his parents. We can't live our lives in fear, otherwise we aren't really living and there won't be much to miss when it IS over!

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    1. You are very right, but I'm still insane. xoxo Mar

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  5. Oh Marianne. I am right there with you. I am a child of the "milk carton" era and all school pictures and sports pictures look like missing children ads to me. Throw in the fact that both of my kids decide to wear something I've never seen before and smile all goofy on picture day, and I'm a basket case. What if I have to give these to the police one day and then no one will really know what they look like?! It's rough being insane, sometimes. You are not alone. :)

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    Replies
    1. Thank you. Come sit by me and we can be crazy together.

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  6. I didn't need to be scared of a kidnapper. My mother was afraid enough for both of us. "Don't you hold their hands all the time?" "Don't you go into the stall with them?" "Do you want some horrible person to take them?" They are now 27 and 23 and if someone takes them? It's their own fault. Maybe. Except maybe for my little girl. She's up in SVU territory and she's only 5 feet tall and 100 pounds. Okay...now I'm worried.

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  7. Great looking boys!! Love their pictures. I know what you mean Marianne. That was my fear when my son was younger and him at 24, I'm still helicoptering around him......geesh........

    betty

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    1. Thanks, Betty. I have a feeling we have a LOT in common!

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  8. I am just glad the dog needs to go for a walk right around (or at exactly) the time my daughter walks to the bus stop down the street...in the dark! Love those pics of your little men!

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  9. You mean I can't keep my child locked in the house safe and sound forever? I seriously want to. I am taking steps to normalcy, but it's not easy. Baby steps....

    I think Adam Walsh affected me as a child. I was always scared when I got separated from my parents at a store. I mean, ridiculous over-reacting. My mom says now that I heard to much about Adam Walsh disappearing and that was the beginning of my paranoia. I am hoping to not pass that paranoia on to my poor daughter!

    It's hard to be a mom. I wish helmets and bubble wrap were more acceptable...haha!

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    1. I am 100% with you. Helmets and bubble wrap. BRING IT.

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  10. Letting go (even just a little) of our "babies" is so hard.

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  11. Oh my goodness! The same last name! Even though this was a horrible kidnapping, it is interesting how the father has done so much good helping others since then.

    Your sons are adorable and you are so wise to protect them. You will be a stitch, Marianne, when you have to write a cutting the apron strings post (maybe you have).

    Hugs and prayers for the safety of your family,
    Carol

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    1. Thank you, Carol. And wait. I'm supposed to CUT the apron strings????

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  12. Totally get you-I let my daughter walk home with her friends the other day-found out that there were some guys in a van trying to snatch kids in a town 30 miles away, but it still totally freaked me out. I always insist that the kids stick together.

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    1. Yes! Safety in numbers. It's also one of the reasons I'm happy to have 3...my own little "gang."

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