Shouts, Growls and Punches in the Dark

When I was a little girl, my siblings, who were much older than I, were left in charge of me quite often.  I’ve never been a fan of kids taking care of kids because . . . well they’re kids.  Both of my parents worked to maintain the home and pay the bills.  There wasn’t a lot extra for child care.  I’m not fault-finding, it’s just the way it was. 

One of their favorite games was to send the little girl out with the trash at night and hide along the route to surprise her on her way back in.  I hated the game.  The trash barrel was at the very back of our yard and we had a very deep back yard.  Beyond the garage, there were no lights back there. 

From the back door, which had a lighted porch, to the garage was a cake walk.  My dad worked in the garage at night a lot when he was home and I made that trek regularly from the time I could walk well.  Of course my dad would not be waiting in the shadows with a blanket or sheet to throw over me and grab me up to terrify me.  Rounding the side of the garage where the light was blocked out was where the terror began to mount.  They laughed and called me a baby.  I was pretty young but who likes to be called a baby.

Behind the garage my heart and head screamed in fear.  I don’t know how far that walkway between the two sections of garden actually was, but for a small child hauling a trashcan, it took forever to navigate.  Terror mounting, I would dump my load into the big barrel at the end of the walkway and begin the trip back toward the house.  My step quickened with each footfall.

I knew they would be there somewhere along the path, hiding in the shadows.  I would tell myself that this time I would not scream or cry but I would punch back before they could throw the blanket over my head.  I would swing the trashcan or a stick.  I would get away and get back into the light at the back door.  Logic told me it was my siblings.  Fear had a different opinion:  It was a fierce, great unknown monster, growling and speaking threats in a hoarse, deep voice.

Then when they had tired of the growls and threats and jostling, I’d be turned lose to make my way back to the back door which of course would be locked.  I’d pound and cry and eventually be let in.  I schemed to go around to the front which I knew was the door they would use, but by the time I was released, I always ran to the closest door which was the back door.  Just a child’s game?  To them it was.  They teased, berated and denied any part in it.  It continued frequently for years.  Eventually, my dad stopped working nights and the ‘fun’ stopped.

It left me with some permanent reactions that may seem odd or unwarranted to the unknowing observer.  I don’t know why that was such a hoot to my siblings.  At first it was just them jumping from the shadows and yelling out to startle me.  Eventually it grew into a terrorizing event. I don’t know how or where the idea to do something like that came from.  They refined it to an uncanny art. 

As an adult, through bible study and understanding the reality and nature of my heavenly Father, I’ve learned to deal with most of the leftovers.  Becoming a Christian had a profound release of the residual, unreasonable fear.  But recently I have realized that some people still play that game. They figuratively jump out of the shadows and throw a blanket over my head.  They yell and threaten and jostle and punch because they know I can’t really strike back.  Then when they’ve had enough, they leave me in a foggy darkness while they sneak off and deny any wrong-doing.  And no matter how much I reason or self-instruct, they will come back and do it all over again –and again.  When the effect begins to wear off and my reasoning negates some of the reaction, they will intensify and reinvent the game, but it is the same game.  I do not know what has caused their pain and grief and even when I suspect, I don’t know how to prepare myself for it.  I know it will happen again.  I just don’t know where and when. 

“Just distance yourself.” Comes a wise well intentioned word.  Yeah, the 3 year old couldn’t move out of the house either.  But there must be a line of wisdom that I can apply.  The battles when I was a child were never fought by slinging the trash can and running or by punching and getting away.  Saying “It’s my brother; it’s my sister” helped for a very short time but then the ‘boogie man’ became too real and I would succumb. 

Even as an older teen and adult, I faced moments of unreasonable terror.  I had nightmares.  I was crippled by fear in so many realms of my life.  When I realized where the unreasonable fear of my life came from, I learned to change from the inside by the help of God.  I overcame the inability to walk  or work in the dark.  I conquered the nightmares.  I became overly belligerent toward things that go “bump” in the night.  I learned to say “If you’re going to take me out, you’re going to have to crawl over my God and if he lets you, I’m going to heaven anyway.”

My mind is beginning to churn.  Wisdom is right behind a thin curtain.  I shall continue my journey after such an episode.  It’s not taking me off the path I’ve been given, but I would like to find a right conclusion.  In all my getting I wish to get wisdom; in all my searching I hope to find understanding.