Every time I read another story about a missing child, I get a knot in my stomach. I can’t imaging the pain of having your child abducted, even right from your own home while you sleep, with no idea if you will ever see your child alive again.

I’ll admit that I’m very protective of my two girls. They stay within my sight at all times when we’re at the playground. If we go to a crowded event, I prefer to make them sit in the stroller rather than risk turning my back and having one disappear into the crowd. I reinforce the importance of staying near mommy and daddy to Cordy, explaining that if she gets lost she could be gone forever. Yes, I might be making her fearful, but I’d rather her have a little scared of others if it means she’ll get to see adulthood.

This is more than a typical mama-bear response, I think, because I know how fast an abduction can happen. Because as a child I was nearly abducted myself.

I must have been 7 or 8 years old when it happened – I can’t remember exactly. During the summer I spent most of my time at my babysitter’s house, or at our community pool. The pool was about 3/4 of a mile away, along residential streets, and I was often allowed to walk to and from the pool from my babysitter’s house. It was a small town in the early 80s, when people left their doors unlocked while home and kids spent their days outside wandering the neighborhood.

This particular day it was hot and sunny, and I was walking back to my babysitter’s house from the pool dressed only in a swimsuit and flip-flops, with a beach towel draped over my shoulders. I always liked taking the alley home instead of the street. There was something more quiet and interesting about the alley – instead of seeing houses the way people wanted you to see them, I saw the real houses as I walked past the fenced-in backyards: laundry on the clothesline, lawn furniture and outdoor toys scattered across lawns, grassy areas full of dog poop that someone had yet to clean, a car on blocks, etc.

There was also a church that I would walk past in the alley, nestled between nice homes with its white exterior and stained glass windows. It always seemed out of place and larger than life when I walked behind it.

It was on this day that I was strolling down the alley and as usual, keeping my eyes on the ground as I kicked rocks ahead of me. I glanced up as I approached the church, and noticed a man walking towards me. I was a little startled, first because I had never encountered anyone else walking down that alley in the middle of the afternoon, and second because the last time I had looked up, there was no one coming down that long, straight alley. Where did he come from?

I looked back down at the ground again and tried to maintain my best not interested in interacting because I have to be somewhere soon aura, hoping he would be equally uninterested and pass me without a word. But as we walked closer toward each other, his eyes were locked on me, and he forced a smile.

“Hi, uh, do you know… uh, do you know where I can find a paint store?”

I’m sure I must have looked at him like he was insane. A paint store? What a weird question to ask a kid in an alley.

“No, sorry. I don’t know of one.” I replied, trying to keep the conversation as short as possible. I started to take another step towards my destination, but he didn’t move out of my way, and instead moved closer.

“Are you sure? I really need to find a paint store. C’mon, every town has one.”

At this point he was invading my personal space and I was distinctly uncomfortable. I took a step back from him. He was a little short, but still taller and bigger than me. I remember he had light brown hair , but was balding across the top of his head, making his forehead look enormous. His face was square with small eyes and a big nose, and his jaw was so tight I could see it clenched. He was trying to be friendly, but looked very uncomfortable.

While my finely-honed stranger-danger spidey-sense had been activated the minute he looked at me, it was now flashing orange caution lights in my head. He was either shady or mentally ill, and I couldn’t decide which.

“Sorry, I don’t pay attention to paint stores. I’m just a kid. Try asking at a gas station.” And with that I walked around him and continued on my way, heart pounding in my chest. I refused to look back at first – not wanting him to see I was nervous, but after a minute I did glance over my shoulder quickly.

He was gone.

I think not seeing him there at all confused me even more. But by the time I reached the end of the alley, turning onto the short street, I had dismissed the interaction as one of those weird but forgettable moments in life, calming down and resuming my typical kid thoughts. Some people are just odd.

But then, as I approached the corner of the main street – where I would then be half a block away from my babysitter’s street and from there in view of her house – I saw an older car turn onto the shorter street, pulling over at the corner. Adrenaline pushed my heart into my throat as I realized it was the man from the alley in the car. He rapidly got out of the car, still trying to act friendly, but now appearing more serious and still a little nervous as he walked towards me with a determined pace.

“Listen, I really need your help, little girl. Can you come with me and show me where the nearest gas station is?”

I remember glancing down the street each way. This neighborhood was always dead quiet in the afternoon, with everyone at work. I saw no one around, no one I could run to, and no one who would hear me scream. He was coming at me from the right, the sidewalk was directly in front of me, and there was a small hill on my left, with a large grassy yard. I didn’t know what to do, and simply froze as he approached me.

“Just go down North Street and you’ll see one,” I replied. At this point, red WARNING lights were flashing in my head. He was a stranger asking me to get into his car, which I knew was a bad idea. There was no reason for him to be seeking help from a kid.

“I’m not from here. Come on, help me out. It’s OK, I won’t hurt you.” He was getting dangerously close, and when he dropped the smile completely I no longer felt he was a harmless mentally ill person.

At this point I was very scared. “NO! Leave me alone!” I yelled at him while taking a step back.

The next two seconds still feel like slow motion when I replay it in my head. I remember him shifting his weight towards me. His arm beginning to extend. Hand reaching out to grab me.

I remember at the same time my legs working of their own accord. Instinct moving me up that little grassy hill out of his reach while my brain still tried to process what was happening.

I recall pausing at the top of that little hill, as my higher brain function connected with the cerebellum again, looking back at the man still only a few feet from me, still lunging forward from trying to get a hand on me.

Before he could completely recover, I ran full speed across the yard towards my babysitter’s house, running as if my life depended on it, because at this moment it did. I think I was screaming but I can’t really remember. When I reached my babysitter’s house, I no longer had my flip-flops on – I don’t remember when they came off my feet.

Here’s where I made my biggest mistake: I never told my babysitter. I didn’t tell my mom for a long time, either. I’d been told not to walk in alleys, and I was scared that I’d get in trouble for walking in the alley that day. I think I was worried they’d tell me I deserved what happened because I didn’t listen to them. So I stayed quiet, keeping this terror to myself and not thinking about stopping this man from trying this again. Years later, I still feel guilty over that. What if he abducted a different little girl because I never told the police?

There was no way I could have an adult with me at all times. But I had been taught to avoid strangers, and that lesson possibly helped save me from being kidnapped. It’s one time in my life that I’m glad I had such a strong mistrust of people. What if I had trusted him and let him get closer to me? What would he have done with me? Would I even be alive today?

I never saw him again, but I always looked for his face in crowds. In some ways, I still watch for him. That one short experience impacted how I view others, and it wasn’t until I had children of my own that I realized how much it has affected my parenting.

I know I can’t be with Cordy and Mira all the time. The older they get, the more time they will likely spend away from me. But I will do my best to teach them stranger safety, hoping that if they ever fall into a situation like I went through, they’ll get out of it safely.

And maybe they’ll be smarter than me and listen when told to stay out of alleys.