Beware of Darkness

Growing up, one of the things I recall with less than fondness was the later in the day a phone call came, the less likely it was to be good news. In my family, we knew better than to phone home after 8 PM, no matter what, and no matter where we were. This was long before caller ID when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and I know young people doubt me on this, we had no idea who was on the other end of the call. 

I have reached an age where, like it or not, I am all the adult I am ever going to be. I know I’m not alone.

The growing old part worked far too well and the growing up part didn't seem to work at all. I still get nervous going into a darkened room and will search out the light switch even if I'm only passing through. And phone calls now? Even with, or perhaps because of caller ID, when the phone rings in the evening, I am always startled (maybe wary is a better word). The phones we have require two rings to show me the number and name of the caller (and if I’m watching TV their identity is onscreen as well), and there I stand, momentarily transfixed, watching the display.

Despite 'do not call' registrations, I get a lot of callers who ‘technically’ don't want to sell me anything, which is prohibited by the registry, but rather only want a few minutes for a survey on a multitude of issues, services, and products which always seem to end in what sounds suspiciously like a sales pitch. And so many worries about my car warranty! Those callers I can handle and do so with a tad more relish and enjoyment than I really should have, truth be told.

But when I see the name and number of my son or daughter on the display, my bravado evaporates, and I start making horror movies in my head. I mutter 'Please don't be anything bad' at least three hundred times between the second ring, which displays their name, and the third ring which never comes because I answer the phone. 

Both of our children think it's amusing their old man breaks out in cold sweats when they call him after dark--if my wife answers the phone, I pace and fret within eyesight and earshot, lest she forget to tell me of a cataclysmic catastrophe that has befallen one of them.

When we brought them home from the hospital, and they still had that 'new baby smell', I used to sit in a corner of their room and watch them sleep. I was fascinated by their breathing and by any and every movement they made while in their crib. Being their father became the hardest job I have ever had, but I’ve loved the most.

As an adult, I understand and internalize the realization I cannot protect my children, who are in fact, adults, themselves now, from every evil and misfortune in the world, but when the day gets dark and the phone rings at night, my inner grown-up is nowhere to be found. And all the me that's left can do is stare at the ringing phone and hope the monster under the bed has vanished by the time I answer it.
-bill kenny