47 days to 50
I have all these wonderful writing ideas right before I fall asleep. Each time I think of them and belive I will remember when I wake up. Yet, each morning I can’t remember the thing for the life of me.
One of the writers I follow, Shaunta Grimes, blogged today about sharing your scary stories from your childhood and that is what I am going to do today.
As a kid, my mom would sing to me when putting me to bed at night. One song she sang me went something like
We Willy Winkle
Runs through the town
Checking all the shudders up and down…
Seems like a benign enough song. Willy Winkle is making sure that the town is buttoned up tight for the night. That is not how my child's brain imagined it. I visualized this crazy man in a nightshirt and hat with an old hurricane lamp rattling all the doors and windows.
When I dreamed I used to believe Willy Winkle was chasing me. When I knocked on the doors in the town people would open the door, recognize me, and never let me in. Willy Winkle never caught me, but it left me feeling desperate and alone.
Why do I share this?
When you are a child, even your dreams, impact who you turn out to be. I have always been nervous about reaching out to strangers for fear of being rejected. Those dreams manifested that fear, and I didn’t get past it. I still have the fear of being in desperate need and not getting the help I needed. But I had to function as an adult so I had to learn how to do that.
When I was in my mid 20’s, I decided I was going to (to use a current term) “lean in” against my fears. When the easy path was to shut up and just take it, I stood up for myself and for others. I consciously spent 2 years forcing myself to do the thing that scared me. This helped me grow in my work and got me to make a call to an Irish dance instructor to see if they offered adult classes.
When I was the only person over 18 during Saint Patrick’s day performances, the people purchasing the performance handed me the mic. I was as new as anyone else during these performances but I was the grown-up so I had to talk. Once again, I “leaned in” and started talking. Did I know what I was going to say or how I was going to say it? No. I just started talking about their dresses and hair and where these traditions started. I must have spoken well enough that I became the spokesperson for my team for many years. I even started studying for the teaching certification as well as competing with the kids in the age group competitions.
This was a great experience in my life and I am grateful for all the challenges it provided. Still, not much of it was comfortable. I came to a dance form that is very athletic in my late 20’s and was competitive for 13 years. I wanted to make more of it but the ruling organizations were dug into the idea that Irish Dance is for kids. Yet, I met a woman who, at the time, was in her 60’s and returned to Irish Dance because she loved it so much, and she was running rings around the other dancers with her rhythm. Still, the ruling class in Irish Dance kept saying things like “adults don’t understand the rhythm.” The schools were happy to take our money as we kept gladly paying month after month. But, they dedicated their efforts on their champion dancers.
Sure, sometimes our synapses don’t fire as quickly as we get older, but learning something like Irish Dance is a challenge to the brain and body and keeps adults more mentally healthy than just brain training exercises ever could. I only wish the majority of teachers understood that and showed how much they love what they do by sharing it with anyone willing to try.
Fear is always a part of who I am. But today, I know when I am just being a chicken and I have to push through, or when that fear is justified and I should pay attention.
Wee Willy Winkle never caught me when he chased me in my dreams, still, I certainly ran and ran to get away from him. He no longer haunts my dreams.
What was your nightmare as a child?
