Editor’s note: This is the second in a two-part column on stalking. The first portion ran in the Jan. 14 edition.
Can you imagine worrying for over five years about someone who cannot take no for an answer, who tracks and follows you like an animal, whose behavior is unpredictable and frightening, and whose methods escalate over time? Can you imagine being the parent, sibling or friend of someone who is being terrorized in this way?
I never liked grammar units in English class. Despite my mother’s tutoring, I couldn’t — and still can’t — diagram a sentence much further than the subject, predicate, adjectives and adverbs.
My college journalism teacher always told me I used too many dashes, and sometimes I still get commas in the wrong place. I confess to taking a little editorial license every now and then, especially when it comes to Southern speak.
Walking has been a big part of my life for a long time.
As a child, I used to walk barefoot up and down the sidewalks in my neighborhood. When I went to college, it became a means to stay in shape. Simply by picking up the pace and pumping my arms while walking around the activity center, I dropped about eight pounds.