I had just kicked back for the night and began to relax – boots off, feet up – when I sensed movement off to my right. It was him – my boy was nearly four years old and had long blonde hair. He was motionless, staring, and I finally asked, “What is it?”
“There’s a monster,” he said, holding my steady gaze. He was serious about this, I could tell, appearing helpless and almost pleading.
Going into fatherhood, I had tried to look ahead as far as I could, with my primary objective to be the most unlike my parents I could be. I’d had to think long and hard about discipline. Could I ever lay a hand on my child in punishment? How might we achieve reconciliation and understanding? But – I hadn’t really anticipated the monster in the closet.
It’s been said I was born unafraid of the dark. As a tot I would climb out of bed at night to play with my toys. After a while my parents took to keeping my door cracked to see if I got back up. As one story goes, they heard something one night and, believing it was me, my dad rushed into the room screaming at the top of his lungs. It turned out I had been in my bed the entire time. I don’t recall these events, that’s just what I’ve been told. All I know is that, as a child, I suffered a terrible fear of what might be lurking behind doors in the night. Now my boy had a monster in his closet…
What to do? My parents would’ve forced me back into the room at threat of a beating. In those days, Mom and Dad were difficult for me to relate to.
“There’s not a monster in your closet,” I finally said, shaking my head. He stared back in silent disbelief. So I tried again, saying, “There can’t possibly be a monster in your closet.”
He was not seeming especially convinced, so I went on with more conviction, “There cannot be a monster in there because you see,” and I looked him sternly in the eye, “monsters are scared of me.”
Mind you, it was not easy to keep a straight face at that point. He was hanging on my every word. “The monsters are scared of me because they know if they try to hurt you,” a pause for emphasis, “I will kick their butts.”
In those days I was a timber jack in top condition, out in the sun every day, with hair past my shoulders and beard trimmed below the jaw. But, that night at home, I was wearing blue sleep pants, a red tank top, and leather strapped sandals. My son, known then as little bear, stood staring in wide-eyed silence.
“Is there a monster in your closet?” I fixed him with a firm gaze. He nodded slowly, so I pulled myself up on my feet. “Let’s go see him then.”
I pushed open the bedroom door and flipped on the light, hands fisted, arms slightly bent. Up to the closet I strode, noticing the door already slightly ajar. “Come out of there, monster!” I commanded.
There was no response. I glanced at my son, then back at the door. “Don’t make me come in there!” There was nothing left to do. I threw open the doors…
“See?” I rifled through the garments checking the corners. “There’s no monster in here.” I knelt down to his eye level, “and there won’t ever be, because they know I will get after them if they ever get close to you. Okay?”
A smile pulled at my boy’s face as he nodded.
I laid him back in bed with a kiss on the head. That monster never bothered us again, which was a real relief. After all, had I actually seen a monster in the closet that night, who knows what might’ve become of us?
