False evidence appearing real. FEAR.
My first recollection of being afraid of something was while riding my cherry red heavy metal tricycle. I was three years old.
My mother would be watching me as she sat at the top of the three concrete steps, as we didn’t have a front porch until I was older.
I was allowed to ride between Central Avenue and Grant Street, slowly crossing the alley between them on the ever-so-safe 12th Street. It was 1958.
Photo provided by Janet Hart Leonard
I would be just cruising along without a care in the world until … I heard the roar, and fear would grip every part of my tiny body.
It was the monstrous street sweeper!
My chubby little legs would put the pedal to the metal and race back to the safety of my mother’s arms.
It was even more scary if I had to ride toward the monster to get to my mother. Could I make it to her before it swept me up? I was sure that street sweepers would sweep up little kids. It was a fear not at all false to this little girl.
That’s the thing about fear. It is not false to the one doing the fearing.
There are still things that I fear. It doesn’t matter how much someone tries to convince me that I should not be afraid. Their “fear not” is wasted on me.
Some fears are just the way I am wired. Bees. Roller coasters. Driving through the mountains. Being lost. I’ve had to deal with all of these. Just writing about them puts a knot in my stomach, and my heart rate increases.
Some fears are relational. I never knew the reality of Anticipatory Grief until I cared for my mother as she entered her 90s. Fear became an everyday reality during those years, even more so with each trip to the hospital. I knew my fear would someday become a reality.
I have fears that come about whenever I enter the room of my “what ifs.” As much as I try to stay out of that room, I find myself opening the door, tiptoeing inside, and pondering, “But what if that happens?”
Don’t tell me my fears aren’t justified.
Even 60 years later, my heart still races whenever I hear the street sweeper. The street sweeper has a new look, and so do my fears.
Don’t try and argue with me about why I should not be afraid. They are my fears … and they are real.
Janet Hart Leonard can be contacted at janethartleonard@gmail.com or followed on Facebook or Instagram (@janethartleonard). Visit janethartleonard.com.