In Which I Am Interrogated By The Police

Two newsletters in one week may be one too much, but I spent some time editing an old Facebook post today and really wanted it to be out in the world. Here goes!

A few years ago, many parents read articles by Lenore Skenazy, founder of the Free-Range Kids organization, who was promoting her vision of allowing children to be more independent. Listen up, Ms. Skenazy: we were the original Free-range kids!

As I’ve mentioned before, my siblings and I went to school in Milan, which at the time was 5-6 hours away by train, and traveled home for a visit every couple of months. 

When I say 5-6 hours, I am not accounting for train strikes, which could make the trip last up to 9 hours. Hey, what would Italy be without strikes?

At first, I traveled under the supervision of my older siblings. So it went, year after year. Then, before I knew it, I was the older sibling, in charge of two younger ones.

On the day in question, we were traveling from Rome to Milan.

I was 13, my brother 11, and my sister 6.

The trip started as it always did, with people in our compartment asking us questions, the three of us playing pocket versions of board games, and reading to stay busy during the 6-hour ride.

After a couple of hours, the ticket inspector came to punch our tickets. Noticing that we were on our own, he asked us a few questions, and I assured him we were alright and well used to traveling.

The inspector left and returned with 5-6 other inspectors (controllori) and officials. I didn’t know their roles, but they wore impressive suits or uniforms.

They began to question us, but we were used to questions and had ready answers.

I told them that we go to school in Milan for religious reasons and that our family has been traveling this way for years and never had any problems. They still wanted to talk and continued to question us for some time.

In my mind, I was an independent young teenager with taxi money in my coat. What they saw was a curly, shy little kid with two younger children in tow.

At this point, my little sister and brother were scared out of their wits. The situation as it appeared to us was that we were surrounded by six men in serious suits who were crowding our 6-seat compartment - not a comforting sight for a child.

Finally, one of the men explained what was happening: the day before, a 12 or 13-year-old girl had been caught running away from home; they found her on a train.

That explained why we drew their attention after so many years of uneventful travel - they thought I was running away.

I told them that had I been on the run, I wouldn't be bringing two kids and a bunch of luggage.

Even so, they were unhappy with the situation and unsatisfied with my answers.

We arrived in Milan after a few hours, and to my great consternation, two police officers were waiting for us!

They escorted us to the police station, which was inside the central train station, never offering to help with our heavy bags. I remember feeling extremely embarrassed as they escorted us across the extended platform and through the station, as people stared at us, and I felt like a criminal.

We sat in the waiting area, and my brother and sister started to cry.

I kept telling them that we were not going to jail, we hadn't done anything wrong of course, but we were all cranky from the long trip and thoroughly confused.

Finally, we were ushered in to see the ispettore or commissario (I wasn’t up to date on the various police job descriptions unless you count those featured in British mystery novels). He questioned me as the kids cried in the background. 

At a certain point, I told the officer, "Why don't you call my father? He can verify the story".

He asked me for the phone number, and at this point, I was pretty nervous, so I stumbled on the digits and gave him the wrong number. He started to claim I was tricking him, then instructed me to dial the number myself and hand the receiver to him.

The officer spoke with my father, then hung up and told us we were free to go. He had a policeman escort us to the long taxi queue. He didn’t let us skip the line but simply deposited us there and left. It would have been nice to get a free ride to our host homes in a police car, but at least the whole ordeal was over.

Who said the Intercity train rides were boring?