My love of horror was destined from the moment my mom saw six-year-old me sneak-watching a horror film with from the hallway. “Deborah! You’re not supposed to be watching this! Go back to bed.”
2L Deb, imbued with the powers that accompany wearing a dress ominously on one's head, has come to steal her future self's baby for nefarious purposes!
Was I not supposed to watch films where people grew eyeballs on their bodies, or was the prohibition even broader than that? My mom wouldn’t tell me, so I was left to puzzle over this myself, until the next time my mom caught me in the act.
“Deborah! I told you you’re not supposed to watch this!”
“What’s ‘this’?”
“Scary stuff. Things that will give you nightmares.”
Now that I’m a parent, I understand the translation for this was:
Things that will cause you to steal away what little time to I have to myself every day!
At the time, though, what I took from this was that:
- Adults watch horror movies
- Kids do not watch horror movies
- Watching horror movies makes kids more adult-like
- I needed to find a better hiding spot for watching horror with my mom
At five and thirty-two years of age alike, then, it’s true that telling me not to do something is the best way to drive me crazy figuring out ways to do it. Most of the time this hasn’t been an issue where my horror-partaking habits are concerned, but a few nights ago, I finally faced a situation where I hid under my covers wishing I’d spent that time watching Care Bears videos instead.
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