Fear

As a child, I read Stephen King novels way before I was developmentally ready to do so. My mom figured that if I was *able* to read the books, then there was no reason I shouldn't; it was so early, in fact, that she had to write a permission slip for me to check the books out of the library. And the funny thing was that none of that stuff scared me.

From the years between nine and thirteen, my sister and our other girl neighbors used to ride our bikes around quite independently and alone a lot in the summers, many days finding us at Gun Lake, more than twenty miles round trip from our houses. With only one exception one summer, I was never afraid of being taken, raped, or hurt in any other way; it never even occurred to me. One day when we were skipping rocks, walking in the shallows of the Thornapple River, and having our peanut butter and sugar sandwiches at the Irving Dam, this guy kept riding past on his motorcycle. He'd drive past really slow over and over and turn as if looking toward us, and that was the first time I actually felt afraid. It was if my instinct was kicking in and saying to get out. Go. So we grabbed our bikes and pedaled the four miles home as fast as we could. I remember really feeling scared, threatened actually, as if something unknown but awful was about to happen.

Other stuff was scary, too. I never knew for sure when or why my dad would get angry... he certainly did when I disobeyed and back-talked, which was often, but other times, it would come out of nowhere. He had little patience for me and could be pretty mean. It was the not knowing that made me afraid, so I would try to manage my own fear by trying to predict when he'd be home, noticing how hard the door slammed, or learning to run faster than he did. Once I learned to make the unknown more known, it became less scary.

For kids, fear usually comes from the boogie man under the bed, the quiet, unknown rustling in the dark yard late at night, or the nightmare-inducing movie. But as adults, we know that there's much more to be afraid of, real things that happen to good people and terrible, unspeakable things that happen to children, things that will change the hearts and the lives of everyone around them. Fear comes from Jacob, who never got to live, from Emma, who hardly did, and from Asher, who has known way too much for his nearly eight years... This is different, the teeth-rattling, bone-crushing fear of helplessness when something terrible happens and those who love them cannot make anything different and pray like there's no tomorrow that they might. I can hardly even see to write this at the thought of what their families and countless ones like them have experienced.

It can overtake us if we let it.