The Boogie Man of my youth was a troll-like creature that stayed in the shadows and lived under my bed. He was there to grab at my ankles if I got out of bed before it was time to be up. He stole the covers if I kicked them off after my parents tucked me in. If the bedroom closet door wasn't properly closed he could get in there and watch as I slept. My siblings and I were safe because we kept our bedroom closet doors closed. We visited the toilet before we were tucked into our beds. Sweet dreams were sealed with a kiss on the forehead.
The Boogie Man nowadays does everything he always did, but he has also changed. Now he says Mass. He is in the classroom and makes kids stay after school. He steals playground toys, but pretends he found them. Kids can always get their toys back. If. If they will get into his car. If. If they will learn their after-school lessons. If. If they will kneel with the priest.
Being scared used to be fun. Being scared wasn't real. Being scared was to teach kids a lesson. Nowadays, being scared isn't a game. It is very real. Kids can die from the people who scare them and the things they do.
None of the kids I knew ever really saw the Boogie Man. Times have changed. The Boogie Man gets around. Kids have seen him. Kids have been afraid to tell. Kids have been scared. Scarred. Died.
No comments:
Post a Comment