Page 105 - Philly Girl

Philly Girl 89

One Last Thing: Night Terrors

I had a terrifying childhood, yet no one in my family knew.
I was especially terrified at night. I secretly was afraid of the
bomb at the top of the steps. Every night, when my sister
accompanied me up to my room at bedtime, I was petrified
by the reflections on doorknobs, and so my mother would
cover all of the knobs with rags or towels. I had an ungodly
fear of the lights from cars that would flash through my
bedroom through the Venetian blinds. Surely, I thought,
those light strips will decapitate me.
My nightmares were so frightening that I often woke
up screaming. No one ever reassured me. No one ever said:
“It’s alright, the lights from the cars are just the headlights
reflecting on walls.” Or, “There are no bombs in the house.”
No one informed me that doorknobs could not hurt me.
I spent my Saturday afternoons at the movies watching
scary double feature films, and I remember them all: The
Blob (at age five), The Incredible Shrinking Man (age six), The
Fly (also age 6), The She-Devils (age seven). Even Pinocchio
was terrifying. These upsetting thoughts were all in my own
private small-child brain. Raw fear, with never an explana-
tion or a reassurance.
I was always expected to smile at all relatives, friends,
teachers, strangers, and cashiers—anyone whose path I
crossed. No grumpy faces allowed. No being disgruntled in
any situation. Accommodation, acceptance, and enthusiasm
were the expectation. I felt I had no choice. The mandate was
to “be cheerful.”