"Good Afternoon, ...

...I am calling about the crossroads at High Street and Pembroke Road. I am concerned with the lack of pedestrian lights.”

I practiced that line in the bathroom this morning and I expect some interruption like, “But there are pedestrian islands on two sides.” I have made this call and similar ones before and I know the full bandwidth of replies. One of my favorites is “This intersection has a low priority with the Transport Commission, because there have been no fatalities so far.”

On my earlier calls, I ventured as far as questioning pedestrian safety standards in all of the UK. Why not, once you’re at it? But this time I am more cautious and a wee bit more concise.

“The problem is,” I continue, “that it is a very busy crossroads with turning lanes on all four sides, and short green periods so the cars zip around the corner like pin balls...”

I pause, waiting for some acknowledgment but for lack thereof I add, “You see, it is rather challenging for children to estimate speed and distance, and...” But this time he has a verdict ready for me, “Pedestrians cross at their own risk, and children should not cross streets unsupervised.”

Ah, yes, now he’s found a familiar tune: Blame the parent, children belong behind closed (and preferably locked) doors/in the back seat of an armored vehicle. Obviously, I have landed with a hard-liner.

However, ironically, the one time, when there actually was a close call, Zoë was with my mom, and it was my mom who needed the extra help.

But it’s useless. He has boxed and stacked me. Me, the negligent parent who assumes that crossing high street should be manageable without risking life or limb.

As if!