Making Sense

It all makes sense now.

I used to love the cartoon Family Circle, especially the strips where the little boy would have trouble finding his way home and would wander all over the neighborhood. Sometimes it would take him half a day to take the trash out because of all the interesting things he found along the way, the distractions that stopped him, or the places he decided to travel. I traced every stop with my finger, traveling with him on his journey.

His poor mother. I never considered her. Now, I do.

I always thought of myself as the wanderer. I, too, was intrigued by so many obstacles. I became distracted, at times. It’s part of being a child, right?

As an adult, I wonder what happened next in the penned world of Family Circle. These are the parts of the family’s life that weren’t inked for us. Did this young child get into trouble? Was his mother worried about him when it took forever to complete a difficult task? Did she become angry or did she just encourage his adventurous spirit?

You see, I face this situation today on the other side of the comic strip. I now see my own boys wandering around, taking the longest paths possible, to complete a simple task.

Sometimes, I want to scold them for taking so long. But, do I? Other times, I want to laugh at them. And, on occasion, I want to go with them. It’s one of those parenthood dilemmas.

On Sunday after we left church, the boys were walking toward the car. I was near enough to make sure no traffic or strangers would bother them, so I let them wander just a bit. Heath began to veer into a nearby cemetery.

I cautioned him not to walk on graves ... everyone has been instructed to respect a graveyard, right? It may be all of the talk of the Halloween and the never-ending episodes of Scooby Doo that are encouraging him to venture into such territory.

I have never been one to deal well with scary situations. As a child I used to play in a cemetery with some friends in Gilmer County. Until ... that day my sister, four years my elder, jumped up from behind a grave and frightened me beyond repair. I ran out of that graveyard, forgetting that we had to duck under barbed wire to get into the spooky location.

As you can imagine, I didn’t duck. My face hit the barbed wire. It stuck in my lip. The force plunged me onto my back, hitting a rock and knocking the breath out of me.

Unfortunately, that meant a new tetanus shot for me.

But, for a moment, I think it scared my sister. She probably thought I was dead while I laid there, eyes closed, lifeless. She’ll never admit it, though.

I don’t find myself wandering in graveyards anymore, unless I am there to leave flowers or to find an ancestor. I’m not a regular graveyard prowler. I don’t believe in ghosts, but I don’t want to give my imagination the chance to wander as my feet once did. I can’t even watch scary movies and then sleep well at night. I never have been able to do so. “The Lost Boys,” which is rather calm compared to today’s standards, gave me nightmares for two weeks. It took me about two months to get over “Flowers In the Attic.” Honestly, that movie still bothers me and I watched it about 18 years ago.

Even though I know it is fake, my mind won’t rest at the times that I can’t control it – in sleep.

My children helped me figure out the paradox of Family Circle. I’ll wait to see if, in time, they help me understand the overactive, spooktacular side of my imagination. Until then, I’ll stick with Scooby Doo instead of "Saw."