societal constraints

What a pity that nowadays we have to be quite so careful. Because of the prevalence of paedophilia, primary school teachers are no longer allowed to apply suncream to pupils in case they use this as an opportunity to abuse. A male university lecturer has to refrain from putting his hand on the arm of a distressed female student in case the action is misunderstood. And of course we can't even make a brief, passing remark to a child we don't know because they are - understandably - warned against talking to strangers.

This was brought home to me quite powerfully one day in a swimming pool when I smiled and said something to a seven year old, prompting her nine year old sister to appear immediately and remind her not to talk to people she didn't know. I recoiled, horrified, ashamed - and saddened. Of course my gesture was innocent. Of course the older sister was correct in intervening. I remember, too, crying in relief when a GP told me a breast lump I'd discovered was nothing to worry about, and him hugging me, still topless -me, not him, and at the time, knowing that if a receptionist - or anyone else - suddenly appeared in the room, there'd be huge scope for misunderstanding. The GP took a risk, I know. His reaction to my emotion was spontaneous. Would that happen now, I wonder?




The sickening reality is that abuse - physical and emotional - is taking place the whole time, across all age groups and social backgrounds. Anyone following the Southern Cross care home providers' saga will be aware of this. And social workers are constantly receiving flack for failing to protect children under their care.






I was reminded of the constant need to exercise caution today as I attempted yet another Zumba class. I have blogged before about my efforts to participate in this aerobic exercise. Of my limitations. Today, to my pleasure, there were two other overweight participants, both lingering out of vision of the studio mirrors. I empathised. Then half way through the class someone turned up. I've no idea why she was late, the instructress - looking even thinner but still very pleasant and welcoming and never giving me the impression I'd be better suited to moving truckfuls of logs - spoke to her, and she joined in the next dance. This late participant had a trim figure and turned out to be a beautiful mover. I was truly inspired by watching her. I loved the way she moved so much that I wanted to take her home with me, to watch her dance. I wanted to tell her that if I could do this, I would be so motivated that I'd willingly forgo that bar of chocolate, the second helping of curry. That I'd peddle away all night on my exercise bike, in the hope of looking as good as she does when she dances.

























At the end of the class I resisted the urge to tell her how lovely she looked when she moves. Why? Because she'd have been mortified, no doubt. Because it would most likely have beeen wrongly interpreted as a pick up line.

This example is nowhere on the abuse scale but it made me think that it's sad we are so limited in what we can and can't do, that people are less likely to give us the benefit of the doubt. That the innocent and well-intentioned among us pay a price for those who do abuse trust and prey on the vulnerable. Quel domage, as they say in France.

Mournfully yours


Jane