When my two kids were small, I took them to central Minnesota for their first visit “the family farm” where my dad grew. It was then owned by my cousin Jerry.
My little ones joyfully pitched in to help with farm chores when we…as much as four-year-old Cody and six-year-old Casey Rose could help, at least. They had a wonderful time, but they were both exhausted by the end of the day. At bedtime, I carried a sleeping Cody and a droopy-eyed Casey Rose upstairs and tucked them in.
Jerry and I talked late into the silky summer night before turning in, but when I finally went upstairs, I was surprised to find Casey Rose wide awake, her arms tucked behind her head and silently gazing into the darkness.
“What’s the matter, sweetie?” I asked as I sat on the side of her bed.
“I just can’t seem to sleep, Daddy.”
“Why not?”
She was quiet a moment, then said softly, “I dunno. I guess I just can’t get used to someone else’s dark.”
Hearing those words, I suddenly flashed back to an incident from my own childhood. It was the mid ‘50s, and I was only slightly older than my daughter. At that time, the same farm was run by Jerry’s parents, Aunt Edna and Uncle Walter.
It was golden hour and all the cousins were squeezing in one last game of hide-and-seek before it was time to go inside for the night. In the gathering dusk, I raced toward a back field, where I took up a hiding place behind a clump of bushes. I crouched down and hid, confident that no one would ever find me, but while I waited, everything around me faded to black as night descended.
A short time later, I found myself suddenly surrounded by an ocean of intense darkness. I could see absolutely nothing in the inky blackness and there was no sound, except for the pounding of my own heart. For a moment, in spite of my growing uneasiness, I had to smile. I had always believed that the nights on our little farm in Iowa were dark, but I’d never think that again.
I tried to calm my fear, telling myself all I had to do was finding something familiar about my surroundings. I looked up at the sky for comfort and saw the same constellations I’d seen a thousand times back home, but for some reason they offered me no comfort that night.
Suddenly the hide-and-seek game was no longer important. I stood, stretched my arms out in front of me, and started stumbling slowly through the darkness, taking one blind baby step after another until I finally caught sight of the house.
Then I saw my dad sitting on the porch swing, talking with Mom and Aunt Edna. I raced across the yard and into the welcome glow of the porch light. Only after I had leaped into my father’s lap and felt his strong arms enfold me did the grip of that terrible darkness begin to loosen its terrible grip.
I looked down at Casey Rose and opened my arms. She immediately sat up and fell happily into my warm embrace. There was no need for words. I knew how my precious daughter felt as she had waited in the darkness, facing somebody else’s dark.
I also knew she would always be able to find comfort and securityósafe in the arms of a loving father.
Freelance writer and editor Gary Anderson has published four books of Iowa humor and inspiration. He also owns www.abciowa.com and a publishing company, Paradise Creek Books.|
