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Fourth grade, I feel, is a pivotal time in a young person’s school journey. In my area, it is the last year of elementary school. You hit double digits that year, about to enter the tween era, when you feel you are too cool/big for childish interests, yet are still a kid. This year, 1998-1999, for me, had a lot of milestones for me; when I discovered I had an acting gene, several neat projects I remember, a radical Western musical I still recall two of the songs and dances too, sexism by a coach, the first and only time I did a sports team (track; I sucked at it, lol,) first time fighting with a good friend, when I lost a classmate for the first time to death…
It surely was a transformational year.
Bullying was prevalent too. Money was tight that year. So, to save money, I volunteered to use my Mighty Morphin Power Rangers backpack and lunchbox from first grade (they were still in good shape and I loved them). Well, apparently, I was supposed to be too old for Power Rangers, so I got sung-bullied for this. And for saying I thought Barney the Dinosaur was a good show (although I didn’t watch it at the time). For months also, I was bullied by a classmate for my nose, everyone chuckling about it. Being a colorful, shy, nice kid, words stung and affected me. So when October approached, and I heard my classmates all eager about a new experience for spooky season coming to town, I decided I was going to be brave:
A haunted house.
I am the biggest scaredy-cat. But Halloween is the day before my birthday, my BIG 10th birthday. =) I could do it. I could face costumed ghosts and ghouls, cloaked shadows and monsters. I mean, it was in the parking lot of our main strip mall in town, mainly in front of the new-at-the-time CiCi’s Pizza Buffet. For two weeks, we would drive past the black curtained set-ups that seemed like an endless cave. I would hear my classmates talk about how thrilling it was. Each day, I would promise my parents I was ready for it. They were surprised, for sure; they knew their little girl and her fragile heart and jumpy nature. However, I was able to convince them, although my mom wanted to go with me. I saw the worry in her eyes, although I didn’t pinpoint the emotion until years later. I never questioned her wanting to go or thought it was lame; I was taking a rite of passage, a step into what we thought in fourth grade was an adult world.
The early navy of a crisp, fall night sank as Mom and I strode up, blending into the hue only an October night can grace. I recall someone greeting us and paying our entry fee (I feel it was $3-$5 each). The front curtain was opened for us to become entranced into a new realm swallowed by velvet darkness. We walked, everything twisting, similar to endless catacombs. Lights I could not see flickered. Horrible noises echoed and pulsed. Every breath became a rasp, making my head turn all over to pinpoint the symphony of sounds. Then a haunting face and figure revealed themselves with a stark white face, black painted eyes, and a sneer with their tongue out that made all my words leave and shrieks become my new language. I felt my mom beside me, although I do not recall what she said.
Trembling to get away, I took some stumbling steps away from the threat, where another creature pounced forward and then another. I could not tell you details on what these personified nightmares looked like, but by the third threat, I became a crying mess. I froze in place and bawled my eyes out, hyperventilating. The voice of the monster became humane, kind as I convulsed. He apologized sincerely, told me it was going to be okay, sorry he scared me. I think he and my mom talked as I continued, unable to halt my tears. Then, he opened up his hidden curtain spot and allowed us to sneak out.
I don’t recall when I calmed down or the car ride home. I don’t recollect what my parents said afterwards or what I told my classmates about my feelings, other than that I went. I was included. Did something cool, grown-up, brave…
But I wasn’t brave.
And I hated this experience.
It was at this moment that the wheels of my perspective started to turn that I wasn’t brave like everyone else, traditional cool like the rest of my classmates at the end of the millennium. But when I tried, I wasn’t happy. I mean, for Christmas, I asked for a Furby because EVERYONE else wanted one, it being the hottest toy of the year. Regret that decision too! Possessed, creepy fur demon! Anyway, the following year, fifth year, I had an amazing, life-changing teacher, Pokémon came out to fuel who I was meant to be as a happy nerd, and I made true friends who understood me. =) My time came.
And I learned that being brave is being yourself no matter what.
All because of a haunted house.