“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”
— William Shakespeare
I hate scares. And I never watch horror movies. Oh, I don’t mind the gore. My mind assures me that what I’m seeing isn’t real. But any suspense, makes me close my eyes, plug my ears and sing under my breath until it’s over.
I think it all begin when I was a child. Honestly, isn’t that when all the terrible fundamentals that comes to the shaping of character begins?
Naturally it was perpetrated by my “loving” father. Picture a small beautiful child, all snuggled in with her Winnie the Pooh pajamas, watching “Return from Witch Mountain. The lights are low,better to see the t.v. I’m told. The music begins to pick up pace, the scene a little more unsettling, the feeling of unease a little more pronounced. From nowhere, I hear a scream as an object comes at me. Terrified, I scramble , fighting my adversary with all the might of a 6 year old, only to discover my enemy was a pillow. Completely hyper aware now, I hear the sounds of uncontrolled giggling (yes giggling) from my father.
And so began my inherent trust issues. But that is another tale ….
So when I tell you that I went with Julianna to Deadmonton, you can now fully appreciate the sacrifices I make for my babies.
I even entered first.
Actually that part turned out to be genius. The actors seem to wait until most of the group enters before scaring you. So, if I told you to go middle to last, please forgive me.
After all, I am my father’s daughter.