Things that scared me as a child
Not fun any more!!
I loved dinosaurs. I mean, I loved them. As an eight-year-old, ask me anything about the Deinonychus, and I’d rattle off a complete palaeontologic analysis of the raptor’s distinguishable foot-talon, counter-balancing tail and pack-hunting mentality. So, you can imagine that when Steven Spielberg’s groundbreaking dino-epic Jurassic Park hit cinemas; I was beside myself in excitement. After weeks of tearful pleading, my parents agreed to take me to see it – despite the M-rating. I was possibly the most excited kid ever to go to the movies that day. I donned my favourite T-Rex t-shirt, brought my favourite dinosaur toys along in the car, and bounced in my seat in joyous anticipation as the curtains parted.
But then, it just went wrong.
I soon discovered that while dinosaurs are fascinating and fun in their static, illustrated form, as I had known and loved them – they were terrifying as scale-sized, realistic, roaring film recreations. My mouth fell agape for the entire movie. As I witnessed Spielberg’s creatures tear through the cast of humans, my fascination with the prehistoric thunder lizards turned to genuine fear. Fear that at any moment, a Tyrannosaurus would crash through the screen
You have no idea how afraid I was in this photo.
Eating my hat's neck flap was my only defence
Yuck.
Again, Mr. Steven Spielberg, famed director, tormented my childhood – this time with his award-winning alien creation, E.T. Some say little E.T was cute, lovable and endearing – I say he’s freakish and scary as hell. Watching the movie for the first time at the tender age of six, I was assured that kids love it – and it’s ultimately a family movie….but after seeing E.T’s long, boney finger and hearing his shrill, croaky voice I was forever scarred. What really got me was his neck. The bulbous head and bulging eyes was already more than I could handle – but once that long, slender neck of his started extending and protruding, and being all crazy-like, I just couldn’t handle it. It simply freaked me out.
Tell me that's not the scariest thing. Ever.
In a similar vein to E.T, but far, far scarier was the Smith’s Chips monster from the late 80s and early 90s. Used as a mascot to sell potato chips – this sneaky, hairy little bastard infiltrated my dreams and often caused me to wake up, screaming that my chips had been stolen. For those unfamiliar – the Smiths Chip monster was an odd little brown creature, with big, buggy eyes, a wispy tuft of hair and a concerning smirk constantly plastered on its horrid face. In the ads, ‘gobbledok’, would sneak around at night, stalking unsuspecting chip-eaters, flog their snacks, and then scurry off, chanting “chipppeeeees,” in a raspy, demonic voice. To make matters worse, this thing had super powers – it could levitate, use telekinesis and run at the speed of sound. Even the police and army couldn’t stop this thing. I was genuinely traumatised
No, I won't get in your belly
This may seem cruel, but when you’re young, innocent and convinced a heavy-set man is eyeing you off for dinner, you can’t help but develop a minor fear for fat guys. I knew, as a child, that some people were bigger than others. I accepted that, no big deal. But on the rare occasion that my toddler eyes met someone you’d term as morbidly obese – I flipped out. They could be the friendliest, most harmless blokes around – but if their belly looked like it could fit a child inside – I would run for cover. Survival of the fittest…sort of.
"I'm. Going. To. Kill. You"
Yes their colours are bright, and yes their plumage is spectacular, but peacocks scared the heck out of me. There was something that I didn’t quite see as right in a bird that in the evolutionary game, traded flight for a garish outfit and a pompous strut. I didn’t trust them. Any creature that would rather cruise the streets like a drag-queen pimp than soar majestically in the heavens is not to be trusted. So they would wander around the pedestrian paths at the zoo – flaunting their freedom in front of the other animals – and people would duly bow to them with seed and bread, feeding their feathered masters. I however, refused to do so, and as a result, the peacocks would gather around me to form an intimidating ring – gearing up to gang-bash the poor kid who was barely larger than them. Fortunately for me, the peacocks’ better judgement kicked in, and they realised too many witnesses were about, so I escaped. But every time I cross paths with a peacock, the hundred eyes adorning their plumage would glare sharply at me, piercing me with murderous intent.
"Last one to kill Chris is a stupid werewolf!"
I guess most people would admit to feeling scared, or at least uneasy in the dark. In plain light, everything is innocent and placid, but once the benevolent, watchful sun disappears, everything turns sinister. The imagination of a child’s mind is a wonderful thing, and the proof proudly hangs on the front of many a fridge door, but that same imagination takes a disturbing, Tim Burton-esque iteration once night falls. To me, in the dark, everything was trying to kill me. Every magnified clunk, scratch or hiss from outside my bedroom window was some form of hideous evil on its way to end my short life. Nightlights accounted for a good deal of the electricity bill back then, and taking the bins out after 8pm was an assured death sentence. But, knowledge that my nightlight was bright enough to at least deter vampires and other light-sensitive monsters was enough to put me to sleep until morning returned, and I survived to be alarmed by menacing shadows another night.
Principals are bastards
I wouldn’t say I was a goody-goody in primary school – but I wasn’t a school wagging, desk-carving bad-arse rebel either. I would occasionally muck around, talk and through bits of paper at my fellow students and consider most warnings from the teacher as bluffs. But as soon as they threatened to send me to the Principal’s Office, I sat bolt-upright and not a peep would pass my lips for the rest of the day – sometimes that week. Our principal wasn’t necessarily a scary man. He was short, balding and with that peculiar habit of talking from the side of his mouth (you know what mean?). But as principal, he wielded the ultimate weapon…the telephone to my parents – and that was not a boundary I was prepared to push. On the few occasions I had to sit and wait outside his office, I remember it felt like the waiting room to an execution hall. The feeling of inescapable peril was numbing, and it took eternity before I was finally called in. The room was always devoid of any sign of humanity. No pictures, no desk-trinkets and no motivational posters. It was a hellish place, and having the principal look me straight in the eyes as he issued his verdict was truly terrifying. Luckily, I escaped with warnings, but the trip to the Principal’s Office was something I was not prepared to risk, no matter how cool it would have made me.
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Firstly - stilt walkers. Hmmm - go figure! You'd see them in the city occassionally and carnivals etc - but with their bizarre looking painted faces, long colourful trousers and 'stilted' style - they were alien to a boy of 2 or 3 .
Secondly - prior to the Sunday night movie (way back in the mid sixties) the TV Station would show a graphic (which started as a dot on the screen) and eventually move toward the front of the TV of an Oscar (Academy Awards). Ever had a look at an Oscar statuette? To a three-year-old it looks like a monster coming to get you as it approached from the screen.
Weird - but true.
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I think that because we literally cannot get away from urban street lighting (for those living in cities), we are forgetting what the dark is. It becomes more scary the less we experience it, and that leads to more lighting.
I wish we could have some dark back.