Fear Itself

During the end credits of Jim Carrey's new film "Yes Man," I felt myself cringing. The movie itself wasn't so bad, even though paying eight dollars and seventy-five cents for a bargain matinee might have created such a reaction. No, the feeling I had was brought on by watching two people fly down a twisting road laying on a rollerblade rig that was more luge than skate. All I could think as I stared at these two accelerating downhill mere inches off the ground was this: "What happens if something springs up suddenly in the roadway?"
Not that the roller-luge activity wasn't thrilling enough on its own. I had to add my own element of fear to it. I'm very good at creating my own irrational fears. For example, as long as I can remember, I have had this bizarre thought as I walk across grates on a sidewalk: "What if I should suddenly become extremely thin and slide down into whatever abyss is below this metal grate?" As yet, this has never occurred, though I continue to expect it each and every time I find myself in this situation.
It doesn't happen every time, but I still have the ability to terrorize myself in a dark room. I imagine a cold, clawed hand reaching to grab my own as I reach for the light switch. Or maybe the back door that's hanging slightly ajar was closed tightly when I left, wasn't it? I've been stalked by a homicidal maniac since I first moved to the room downstairs at my parent's house. Sometimes I think that talking loudly in what I hope is an empty house will take some of the stress away, or maybe just scare this drooling psychopath off via the sheer volume of my monologue. Other times I remain silent, preferring to play it cool, or at least be able to hear the tiniest creaking floorboard or slobbering from the next room.
Then I became a parent, and all the possible awful things that could happen to me in any given time or place pales by comparison to the possible awful things that could happen to my son. I work hard to stay rational because I am, after all, the grownup, but I don't always succeed. The things I find to worry about happening to my son would be more useful if I could keep them from veering into territory like alien abduction. I know that I would be a better dad if I put my effort into keeping him safe from eighth graders and busy intersections, but that's not how we roll in this house. I will, however, be happy to save my son from any roller-luge accidents or spontaneous miniaturization. At least we'll be covered on those fronts.