One thing I associate with childhood, even though I had an otherwise pretty good one, is fear. Even long before I ever saw a horror film, when I was 3 or 4 years old, I remember waking up at night in my bed and seeing dark shadows walking around my room and whispering. (And no, there was nobody there). Later, when I was a bit older, a thrown article of clothing might turn into a witch and start crawling towards me on my bed. I was positive there was a monster under my bed, and another one in the closet. And so on, and so on. As I got older, these fears simply went away, including my crippling fear of the dark. "Fear' is too mild a word, it was really a kind of operatic terror that I've never experienced since. I only remember it dimly now, as though somebody else had experienced it.
My own children have had an even more sheltered childhood than I had; I was determined they'd never experience the kind of terrors I did. To my amazement, even when they were very young, their capacity for fear was incredible. They didn't only fear the dark, or things that go bump in the dark, but they feared that I or their father would die. Once I had to get rid of a year-old Griffon dog we'd adopted, because she peed and poo'd all over the house, plus she was very high-strung and bit everybody but me. The kids, who were then toddlers, became unusually subdued and grave; their eyes, like saucers, followed me everywhere. I thought they missed the dog, but it turned out they thought they were next!
A million times, I've asked myself over the years: if children who are growing up in a loving, safe, nurturing environment where they have never experienced violence or even genuine anger can feel so much terror -- my God, what does that mean for children growing up in war zones, or subjected to abuse, or chronic insecurity?
It doesn't bear thinking about.
"If you're not careful the newspapers will have you hating the oppressed and loving the people doing the oppressing." - Malcolm X
