Phobias

Everyone has something that gives them the willies.  For some it's a big willy and for some it's just a nuisance willy, but everyone gets the willies from something.  For me it's spiders.  I just can't stand the little critters.  Early in our marriage Bob had to come rushing into the bathroom in answer to my screams, only to discover a spider crawling around in my tub.  He scooped him out, disposed of him, and then comforted me tenderly.  I did say it was early in our marriage.  Now he knows that if he hears me holler "spider" he might as well just get the rolled up newspaper and take care of it because I'm not going anywhere near it.  The cuddling seems to have been transferred into endurance. 

My son feels the same way about snakes.  He will tackle the wildest bull with no hesitation but let him sense a slither in the grass and he is history.   Not surprisingly, his son tends to feel the same way.   These fears aren't necessarily rational but they are very real.  No amount of reasoning, understanding or force will make them disappear.  Most of us have a fear and never know the reason why. 

My husband, on the other hand, knows exactly why he has his fear.  You see, he is afraid of chickens.  He just cannot stand to be around anything with feathers.  We had been married for years when one Christmas one of our chicken stories came up.  My husband's two brothers looked at him in amazement.  "You're afraid of chickens?" they queried.  It turned out that that was their phobia too.  I couldn't believe that they had spent their whole lives hiding this so well that they had completely hidden if from each other.

It wasn't long until stories started to come out and the phobia was traced to a common childhood trauma.  It seems that when they were growing up their parents raised chickens for meat and eggs.  Each child in turn , when he reached about five years old, was designated as the one to go gather the eggs from under the hens, The chickens they raised were big, white Leghorns.  If you aren't familiar with these chickens, they are about the biggest ones they make.  A rooster stretched out at his menacing tallest is about the same height as a five year old boy.

My husband says he can remember starting to cry when he left the house, armed with a stick, to collect the eggs.  He would head for the chicken house with dragging feet.  The closer he came the slower he moved.   He would enter the dark coop with the soft clucks of the sitting hens in his ears.  Slowly he would ease up to the nest and try to slip his hand under the hen to get the eggs before she noticed.  Fat chance.  She noticed right away and started squawking and pecking at his arm.  Soon all the hens were raising a ruckus and flapping their wings in his face.  Waving his arms he kept digging for the eggs as the hens fought to protect their nests.  Finally with the eggs collected he knew the worst was yet to come. 

Leaving the hen house, hugging his basket of eggs to his chest and brandishing his stick he prepared to meet the rooster.  The big rooster had been alerted to an intruder by the hens and was ready to fight for his harem.  With a loud screech, he rared back on his tail, threw up his legs and prepared to attack.  Waving his stick, hubby ran to the house as fast has his short legs could carry him, terrified that the big rooster would be on his back at any minute.  The only thing worse would be to drop the precious eggs in the basket.  Heart pounding he realizes that he has lived through the ordeal only to know that he has to face it again the next night.

All three boys suffered through the same ordeal in their turn.  All three grew up with a complete phobia about chickens and about anything with feathers.  Their father was not a cruel man.  He really thought he was teaching his sons to carry out a responsibility and to be strong.  I'm sure he never knew the trauma that he inflicted on his sons. 

Needless to say we don't have any chickens.