Why My Kids Can Never Watch Scary Movies

One, two, Freddy’s coming for you

I curled my knees into my chest, not wanting my feet hanging near the bottom of the couch where a hand could sneak out to grab my sock-clad ankle. My hands crept to my face, covering my eyes as the music turned sinister, foretelling doom for some poor, expendable character that would never live to see any of the formulaic sequels.

Three, four, better lock your door

Unable to watch, yet unable to look away, I peeked out from a small opening between my index and middle fingers, Freddy Krueger would unfurl that blade-adorned glove near his disfigured face and dispose of yet another teenager silly enough to think his or her dreams were a safe place to hide. His victims were forgettable, their faces blending together in my memories; the thrill was in those moments of anticipatory horror, waiting for the inevitable entrance of the serial killer.

Five, six, grab your crucifix

Conservative about what Donnie and I watched, my parents kept Freddy and Jason and other similar R-rated movies from us far longer than many of my friends. Finally able to watch them, I was alternately enthralled and terrified, recognizing the campiness and bad acting but unable to stop that reflexive jump in my seat.

Seven, eight, better stay up late

Now? I can’t watch them, or other horror movies, without an uneasy knot in my stomach. Knowing about the real horrors that lurk around the corners of our lives, the horrors that don’t need to be dramatically intensified by swelling music, I just can’t spend my time watching a blood and gore fest. Any appeal they once had is gone; I cringe and tears fall at the thought of people enjoying slasher films, eighties versions or the current ones.

Nine, ten, never sleep again

Still, the haunting voices singing the Nightmare on Elm Street version of "One, Two, Buckle My Shoe" are forever seared in my consciousness. Reading nursery rhymes, I find them creeping into my head, and I have to stop myself from changing the words on the page.  I stop myself, though, and simply hope that the scariest movies my kids see until they go to college are Disney films.  Have you seen the Evil Queen in Snow White? 

Go ahead and call me a wimp; I understand!  This post is in response to a RemembeRED prompt about something we recall word-for-word from our childhoods.  To demonstrate how pervasisve this memory is, you should know that I had no intention of writing about it when I sat down.  I was thinking of a little song I learned at my best friend's Sunday school about the Titanic.  And this is what came out instead.  Yikes!