When Scary Goes to Level Three

"Security Alert" started the email from our schools' superintendent.

"We've been notified by the police that a level 3 sex offender has moved into our town" and there were other words after that and all kinds of information, but needless to say, after clicking on the photo and the address, what more need be said except for holymuthafrigginwhatthehellshit which loosely translates into: here? HERE?

After that message broadcast to the parents of every school-age child in town, the village newspaper ran a story (plus the photo): it was big news for sure. Especially considering our weekly "police log" mostly identifies mischievous raccoon shenanigans, noisy teenagers, and the occasional lost wallet. I support the notification program and I am fortunate that this information came so quickly and so clearly, though I don't know what the hell to do with it now.

Besides the obvious reminders to my children to be wary of grown ups you don't know, to be mindful of what your gut tells you, to be leery of unfamiliar faces lurking around the park or the playground or the school, what else could I really do? They know something is going on because they could read the flyer sent home in their backpacks, but I can't very well describe the words lewd and lascivious to an 8 and 6 and 4 year old, now can I? Nor would I. And I'm not really sure I want to tell them that it's true, monsters who hurt children do live in the world and oh by the way, one lives here.

But I can remind them we never keep secrets if a grown-up asks us too, that we never help to find puppies without our moms or dads helping out too, that we remember to always go everywhere with a buddy and that we never leave a buddy behind. I can say all this stuff, and I do, and I did, and I reminded them that me and their dad and all our friends do everything we can and always will to keep them safe and sound and off they went to build forts and mess up the house.

But me? Less easy for me, and for That Man too, and I imagine, for most of us here.

When they raise the national security levels, do we start sealing our windows and doors, grocery shop in gas masks, start a militia? Not so much, at least not me. But I do watch CNN more often, and if I were flying, I would become the best eaves-dropping, eye-balling junior detective that ever was. But now, with this kind of scare?

I'm not flyering every light pole in town. I'm not part of any witch hunt (not that I think there is or will be one), but I'd very very very very very much prefer it if this man would move on, move out, and NOT move to your town.

(I asked That Man tonight while out to dinner, where should these people go? He barely needed a second: "Jail," he said, "like, forever." And I think it was the one time that our conversation ended without a rebuttal on my part.)

Ignorance is never bliss, but there are times I can see its upside. It's not that I don't want to know that this man has moved into town, it's just that now that I do know, what do I do when there is very little I can do? It's a free country and if this man follows all the restrictions imposed on him by the law, the law says he can live anywhere he chooses. Even here. In my town.

But the law also grants me the right to speak freely, so I'll say it again: holymuthafrigginwhatthehellshit.