‘Hey,’ says a man on the street. I look up from my phone, he continues talking but I can’t understand a word he is saying. I grab my eldest’s hand as we are moving from the roadworks onto what is a busy street and look at him puzzled.
‘Get off your phone,’ he says in English, gesticulating at my daughter and the busy street.
‘Excuse me?’ I ask, confused and surprised at his vehemence.
‘You, you’re dangerous. It’s a busy street, you should be watching.’
‘I didn’t ask for your opinion, Sir.’ I offer, turning away.
‘I should report you to the police,’ he continues, his face screwed up tightly, his eyes bulging at me like a pit bull.
‘Go on then,’ I say, holding my daughter’s hand more tightly now. I watch the man walk off continuing to rant and gesticulate wildly, outraged at my audacity. I wish I’d been composed enough to say to the man ‘please don’t attack my self-worth, I don’t have a lot of it to spare.’ I wish too, that he’d have been able to hear that and respond with empathy. But empathy was not being served.Read More