"I Can't Seem To Scare My Grandkids!
I was sure the bat would send them over the edge. It
is hairy and huge and horrifying. It has giant white fangs, an
eight-foot wing span and menacing
"I’m-gonna-get-you-then-devour-you-alive" flashing red eyes.
I hung it in the archway between the dining room and the living room,
directly behind the hollow-faced, green-haired witch who sits like an
evil queen at the head of the table with her gnarly
"I’m-gonna-strangle-you hands" hugging the crystal ball in front of her.
The scene was set. All that was needed were the children.
My granddaughter, Lucy, who is 6, was the first to arrive. She
hop-skipped in one day last week, gaped at this elaborate sight, laughed
out loud, then proceeded into the family room to watch Finding Nemo.
Adam, a year younger, strolled into the room, looked around and said,
"Wow! That's awesome, Mimi. How'd you get the bat to hang like that?"
Finally Charlotte, who is only 2, stood transfixed for a half a second,
then grinned and said, "Giant bat. Red eyes. Fun-ny!" And then she raced
toward the scary creature, not away from it.
Granted, all through my house there are gaggles of witches and ghouls
and black cats and skeletons and spiders. But these are all benign
creatures, happy, smiling, Casper the Ghost-like things.
The dining room is hard-core, take your breath away, I do believe in
spooks, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do! Yet not one of my grandchildren
even winced.
No Big Deal?
When my own kids were small, they'd have been under a
bed in a flash. But not these children. I sing a monster song that
terrified their mothers, "Don't sing it! Don't sing it!" my girls used
to beg. But my grandchildren chime, "Sing it again, Mimi. Sing it
again!"
Picture from the past: Beverly in her witch costume
|
But my grandchildren? They shrug. "Can you believe that's me?" I ask
expecting wide eyes and dropped jaws. But I always get the same
response, which is absolutely no response. Can they believe? Yes! Mimi
gets dressed up like a witch. To them a witch is no big deal.
We watched Snow White the other day, the
newly remastered digitized version, which is clear and crisp and
colorful but really, really frightening. The wicked queen sends a
huntsman after Snow White's heart. Literally. Her actual heart. Cut it
out and bring it back to me, she tells him. He lures Snow White into the
woods and raises his knife to kill her, but he can't. He falls to the
ground sobbing and tells Snow White she must run away. She runs through
the forest, which just a few scenes before was all tra-la-la happy, the
birds and the rabbits and Snow White all singing. But now, in her hour
of need, the forest turns against her. Trees grab at her and fallen
branches trip her and all the animals chase her and the woods are dark
and wild and I sat there waiting for someone to lose it, to run to me
sobbing, to shriek, to howl, to at least blanch.
But nobody did. It was, "Do you have any yogurt, Mimi?" And "May I have a cookie, please."
Last Chance To Spook
Yesterday, at a craft store, I saw "a scariest thing
in the world" designed for the outdoors, perfect to put by the front
door: a six-foot tall, ugly, creepy ghoul. You touch its arm and it
snarls and threatens. You walk by it and it comes to life!
There was no price tag on this thing and no one knew how much it cost
because the manager had gone for the day. I left my name. I have my
fingers crossed that it doesn't cost more than I want to pay because I
think that at last I have found something that will make my
grandchildren squirm.