Fear is a terrible thing

Sometimes the decisions we make in our lives have a lot to do with things that happened to us much earlier on in our lives. Things like how we were raised, what are parents believed or even specific events that we experienced. Probably without even thinking much about it, we we are influenced in major ways you any number of things. I was always taught to take the safe path. From an early age I was securely held back from choosing the more exciting route . At first, it was my father. Early on in my life he freely expressed his feelings verbally and nonverbally that it was safer and wiser to avoid any kind of risk and to stay close to home. “ Don’t stick your neck out” was his philosophy and he shared this philosophy with anyone who would listen but most especially he shared it with me, his eldest daughter. Don’t get me wrong, my father wasn’t a bad guy; he was simply trying to keep his beloved family safe. So safe, it was constricting. It was similar to the heavy blanket my Dad would wrap us in when we were little kids. God forbid we should get cold during the night! I clearly remember standing on the dining room table as he turned me in a circle while wrapping that heavy, woolen blanket around my stiff body until I couldn’t move. Then the blanket was secured by large silver safety pins all down one side. I was in this contraption “ safe and sound “ or so he believed. In actuality, it was a bit frightening and claustrophobic. I felt trapped and was unable to move on my own. Sadly this routine of wrapping me in a constricting blanket was a foreshadowing of things to come. In the 3rd grade at Public School 76 in the East New York section of Brooklyn (a place where I was quite happy and excelled) I was given an IQ test and when the results came back I was invited to attend a Public School for the “talented and gifted”. It was a bit further away from my home and involved taking a bus. My father feared the travel and therefore vetoed this opportunity for me. A year later when I was entering 5th grade, my father transferred my brothers and I to St. Michael the Archangel Catholic School. This decision was also fear-based. My brother, Charlie, two years my senior, had just graduated from the 6th grade at PS 76 and, had he remained in the Public School system, was scheduled to enter the local Junior High School in September. My father believed that the influences in the public Junior High were both physically and spiritually dangerous and therefore he made the decision to transfer all of his children to the “safety“ of the Catholic School. I remember wondering what kind of hoodlums roamed the halls of that Junior High. For me, Catholic School was one horrible thing after another and was way more dangerous to me than anything that might have transpired in public middle school. In 8th grade I was one of two female students accepted at the tuition-free, highly prestigious Diocesan High School, Bishop McDonnell. Once again this exciting opportunity was vetoed, because my father did not think it was safe for me to travel by subway into what he referred to as the “bowels of Brooklyn”. I don’t remember fighting his decision because, by this time, I had learned my lesson well, i.e., “avoid risks at all costs” and “don’t stick your neck out”. Fear is a terrible thing and it a cycle that is passed on from one genertion to the next. Sadly, my children can attest to that.