Dear reader,
Here in the Netherlands, a flasher – you know, a man who wears nothing but a trenchcoat and exposes himself to passers-by – is called a potloodventer. Potlood means “pencil” and venter translates as “hawker.” I like the humor in the name.
Years ago, when our son was in primary school, we received a letter from his school one day, tucked into his bag with his lunch box. His school was near our house and sat in a small park in the middle of a residential neighborhood. During recess and lunch, the kids were given pretty much free rein to roam the park at will, playing, my son tells me, elaborate games among the trees.
Anyway, the note told us that a potloodventer had flashed a few of the school’s pupils on their way to school that morning. He hadn’t been caught yet, but the children had reported the incident at school. The school’s administration had immediately reported it to the police and all of the teachers had discussed the matter with their classes.
The teachers told the kids that this person had a mental illness that made him want to expose himself like that. They should, if they saw him again, go immediately to the school and report where they’d seen him. They should not get close or speak to him.
The note continued with a request: would we also discuss the matter with the children please? We might, it suggested, want to walk with our children to school for the next few days.
What struck me was the measured, calm response. No panic, no sirens, no sensationalized news reports; in fact, I watched for news reports in the following days and there were none.
Taking my cue from the tone of the school’s letter, I attempted to discuss the matter with my son that evening, who must have been around eight or nine at the time. I asked if he’d seen the guy. No, he hadn’t. I started to tell him a) not to go near the man and b) to report it right away if he saw him, but I never got that far.
“I know, Mama! Don’t go near him. Go tell the teacher. I know! Can I go play now?” My son was singularly uninterested and unimpressed by the whole event. I let him go.
This sensible response – both my son’s and the school’s – seems to me a demonstration of that sobriety I mentioned in a previous letter. Take events for what they are. Don’t exaggerate. Just deal with it calmly. It’s similar to their reaction to the government collapsing recently: just get on with the business at hand.
It may make for a less exciting news broadcast (And it does: the news is pretty low-key here.) but I like it that way. And in any case there’s enough sensationalized news coming out of other countries. We don’t need any drama of our own.
A side note, following on last week’s letter: There will be no Elfstedentocht. The freezing temperatures ended a few days ago and it all melted away very quickly. The temperature this weekend is predicted to reach 18°C (64°F), so we’re jumping in the space of a week from freezing cold to record-breaking heat. And that’s the extent of our drama this week!
Wishing you a pleasant and drama-free week to come!
Met vriendelijke groeten (i.e. with friendly greetings),
Rachel
P.S. I write about independent travel at Rachel’s Ruminations. Please join me there!