Did You Hear That?

I think it's safe to say that I have an eclectic taste in music and entertainment. I'm not one to thrust my artistic interests on others just to enhance my prestige in their perception. Sure, I enjoy reading Shakespeare, Umberto Eco, and Thomas Aquinas, but I also subscribe to MAD magazine. Sometimes I will select a nice foreign film to enjoy the evening, sometimes I just want to see things explode while half-naked women endure the shenanigans of the geeky guys down the street. Being pretentious for prentention's sake is not my cup of lipton. If I want to listen to a symphony, I will listen to a symphony. If I want to listen to Wham, I'll listen to Wham (and never admit it to a living soul).
Last night I had the pleasure of attending a yearly concert performance of Handel's "Messiah". What a great holiday tradition. The music sounded great, the singers were gifted, it was an overall enjoyable experience. Prior to the orchestra's opening notes, however, it was a decidedly different story. We were greeted and told that there would be a pre-concert performance by a local children's choir. Immediately I felt the shortness of breath and anxiety of an awkward band dork walking up to the hot girl he had a crush on to see if she wanted to go on a date (and yes I am drawing on sensory recall to make that comparison. Incidentally, the girl said no, and band dork walked away. Coincidentally, the hot girl is now fat and living with her alcoholic husband while the band dork runs his own theatre company....but I digest). The sweaty, sticky, sensation that was overcoming me had nothing to do with the quality of the upcoming performance. Nor did it have anything to do with children. One of my most unnatural fears was going to play out in this church sanctuary: children's choir music!!
Don't get me wrong. I love kids, and I fully support the arts. I think more and more children should have the opportunity to find their creative expression in as many different outlets as possible. These performers were top-notch. They were virtually flawless. But, this is what brought on the fear. As I sat in the pew, feeling the paranoia explode, I was experiencing that all-too-familiar sensation of abject fear. Thanks to the magic of Hollywood and my imagination, this innocuous and innocent choir of cherubs was evoking images of Children of the Corn, and creepy demon possession. I was suddenly unable to concentrate on what should be considered beautiful music by talented young singers. Instead, I was nervously looking around, waiting for the death and destruction from above that would coincide with the live soundtrack being showcased from the altar. This is what irrational fear is made of.
I thought that I would spend your reading time today talking about that little debilitating kick-to-the-crotch Achilles' Heel that can bring us all down: Fear. Now, certainly there are things that should warrant our fear should they become imminent. Excruciating death, dismemberment, or even just oncoming pain. These are rational fears. These are not the fears that I am talking about. Today I want to talk about the silly (under certain circumstances) fears that frighten the bejeezus out of me. Read on, if you dare.
1.) IT'S NEVER SAFE TO GO BACK IN THE WATER.
I am deathly afraid of wide open expanses of water. Be they lakes, oceans, rivers, large pools, it doesn't matter. I'm not going in, on, through, or within any expanse of water larger than a wading pool. Even the deep end of the pool can give me the willies. Why? Am I afeard of drowning? Frightened of being alone? Nope. The answer is simple and falls neatly into the irrational category: Sharks. Sharks are evil-looking death machines, whose sole purpose in life is to chase you down and eat you piece by piece. They're sneaky. You go in the water and everything's calm, and then BAM! Out of nowhere this hulking fin pops up and you find yourself swimming in red Kool Aid. Quint, the salty fisherman in the first "JAWS" movie, made damn sure that I was never going near a body of water ever again. Hearing his description of the "doll's eyes", was enough to keep mine firmly shut.
"OK, Mr. Murrill", you say with passive aplomb, "That may explain the ocean, but what about the other types of water you describe?" Well, smart-ass, that's exactly my point. Thanks to an over-active imagination, Sharks can easily exist in rivers, lakes, and even the giant tidal pools that water parks feature. There I am wading in a land-locked lake, minding my own business, and all of a sudden I hear the opening bass notes of that terrifying theme. For all I know, some crazy supervillain has flown in white sharks to breed in this particular lake, and their humongous genetically-altered brains have been wired to hunt down Brent-meat. No thank-you!
2.) FROM THE PENALTY BOX TO THE FRONT DOOR
I spent a good amount of time playing at my grandparent's house during my more formative years. There was a path that led from my grandmother's house to my aunt's house next door. Many times, playing with my cousins, we would be terrorizing the neighborhood until well-after dark. When this was the case, I knew I would have to walk home in less than ideal lighting. This also meant taking this path which went right in front of a large Azalea bush. During the day, this bush was elegant with its seasonal offerings of redish pink blooms. The colors bursting from the hunter green canopy in a way that was so charmingly southern. At night, gone were the simple pretty flowers. This thing was not a source of wonder and natural awe, it was the home of Jason Vorhees! Yes, I was absolutely certain that the machete-wielding disgruntled goalie was lurking in the bush waiting for little innocent me to walk right into his trap of doom. He was certainly patient, but he was bound to get me.
To this day, I wake up from nightmares where I'm being chased by this slow-moving backwoods behemoth. I know there's no use turning around to fight him as he can survive, fire, drowning, the deep recesses of outer space, Hell itself, shotguns, beheading, cannon fire, nuclear blasts, Joe Lieberman, and even sub-frozen temperatures. Throw anything you want at him and he'll continue to plod his way after you. I'm still not sure what he wants with me. I'm no big-breasted co-ed, I'm not a wayward stoner, I didn't kill his mother, I don't work at a summer camp (anymore). I shouldn't be his normal fare, but yet he still pursues me with that otherworldly devotion of a hell hound for its' prey.

Fear is what drives us upon occasion, but it can also impede our progress. There are many things that keep me up at night, drenched in a cold sweat. Do I let them have an active role in the decision-making process for me? Not necessarily, but I certainly avoid situations (rational or otherwise) when my fears can manifest themselves in all-too-real ways. Perhaps, if I am being chased down by Mr. Vorhees, I should find a shark tank and see if battling it out with Jaws will distract him. Just my luck, they would make a fin-to-hand agreement and swear to join forces. The next thing I would see would be a great white with a hockey mask. I think I'll sleep with the lights on tonight!