'Drama' - some memories of an anxious child

    I was fortunate growing up, as I had a nigh on idyllic childhood in a small town which was, at the time, pretty countryfied.  My folks, though from working class stock, worked hard and managed to give us a middle class upbringing.  We couldn't afford fancy stuff, but we never really had to go without either.  And we were well looked after, never neglected.

    Despite all this, I managed to come up with a certain amount of 'drama' to be anxious about.

    At around eight years of age I recall hearing something on the news about missiles.  And I ran upstairs and glued myself to my bedroom window, wondering whether I'd see the missiles in the sky before they hit.

    I recall hearing some statistic quoted somewhere about the average number of heartbeats which we have as human beings in our lifetimes.  And I used to lay awake on those nights when, for whatever reason, my own heartbeat was particularly audible to me.  And I'd worry about my heartbeats being 'used up' too rapidly.  I used to try to slow my own heartbeat, so I wouldn't die off so soon (with some degree of success, I might add.  And I'm now aware of 'biofeedback', so I could usefully revisit this technique, actually.)

    Once at home we had a power cut.  I'd been upstairs in my room, doing whatever, and was suddenly plunged into darkness.  I emerged onto the landing to call out to my folks to find out what was going on.  And my Dad, who's probably a somewhat anxious man in hindsight, shouted out for me to stay where I was.  That was it, I went from merely puzzled to utterly convinced we were the target of a home invasion!  Clearly there were dangerous men in the darkness and we were all in mortal peril!  I started screaming.  My Dad had almost certainly only wanted to keep me safe from falling down the stairs.

    I'll feel forever remorseful about the time my brother arrived home and I initially thought he'd been beaten up, then when I realised he'd 'just' been pelted with something I simply lost interest and went about my business.  But it was because I'd been SO scared that I thought he was badly injured, initially.  I can remember my blood running SO cold.  Then in contrast, when I realised he was physically unharmed, it was such a huge relief for me.  It took me years and years to realise that the harm he did in fact suffer that day was -for him- probably incredibly significant.

    Evidently, although anxious, I wasn't a very empathetic child.  I can't take it back, now, though.  More's the pity.

    That's it, for this post.  Just some recollections.

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