I attempted to reason with my daughter, which is what any responsible adult would do, but it didn’t work at all. For a child, once that fear takes root, it’s not going to budge with feeble tools like logic. So, I switched gears and tapped into my own childhood memories to recall what it was like.
At her age, I was terrified of bears. I was convinced one of those huge creatures would stroll into my home in suburban Maplewood, and there I would be, peeking out from my top bunk, staring right into a bear’s enormous head—soon to be its next meal. The fact that no bear had ever been spotted in Maplewood didn’t matter at all. They were out there, lurking right next to those moving mannequins. And the silly idea that a bear, lacking opposable thumbs, would somehow unlock our front door didn’t ease my bear panic.
When I got a little older, I developed a fear of a pendulum clock we had in the kitchen. It wasn’t some terrifying grandfather clock; rather, it was a small wall clock. At night, while lying in bed, I was certain the ticking sound was getting closer. I never bothered to consider how a small clock could harm me, even if it somehow reached me. Perhaps it was an unconscious understanding that the relentless passage of time would, in the end, be my ultimate demise.
My daughter’s fears echo my own childhood anxieties—very specific and very real. That mannequin is moving. That clock is nearing me. Bears have found a way into our home!
As an adult, I still grapple with my own fears. I worry the bank will mess up some paperwork and suddenly, poof, we no longer own our house. I fret about giant corporations plotting against me. And let’s not even talk about the financial burden of paying for each of my three daughters’ weddings and college. Well, that last one isn’t a fear; it’s just a fact.
I have a friend who’s genuinely concerned about space debris crashing down from above. Seriously. He’s also so afraid of the West Nile Virus that he douses himself in bug spray, even though he never ventures outside. Probably because of that pesky falling space junk.
My friend’s fears are very real to him, just as my distrust of large corporations feels valid to me, regardless of how many smooth transactions I’ve had. My mother-in-law’s anxiety about any glass elevator plummeting to the ground is equally real to her.
Perhaps fears never truly disappear; they just morph and shift. I no longer worry about a bear lurking to devour me—unless it’s dressed as a loan officer in a shiny blazer. And digital clocks have managed to banish my pendulum clock phobia.
Maybe having some fears keeps us alert and mindful of potential dangers, a nod to our ancestors’ instinctual fight-or-flight response.
So instead of trying to use logic or reason—both ineffective parental tactics—I embraced her fears and sought to lighten them. Together with her older sister, we dressed the mannequin in a goofy outfit that made my youngest giggle. Scarves, a princess gown, a feather boa, and some comical glasses with springy eyeballs did the trick. Who knew those dress-up boxes could save the day?
For several nights after, my daughter actively looked for the mannequin, smiling each time she spotted it. Mission accomplished! Until last night, when I heard her call from down the hallway: “Mom! Dad! I hear scratchy noises coming from my closet.”
Don’t worry, sweetheart, it’s probably just a bear!
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Summary
In this light-hearted exploration of childhood fears, the author reflects on her own experiences as a child and draws parallels with her daughter’s current anxieties. By embracing and creatively addressing these fears, she finds a way to turn panic into laughter, while also acknowledging that fears evolve but never fully disappear.