The only thing worse than a worrier is a worrier with a vivid imagination, which would be me. I have dealt with big and little worries, everyday and special occasion worries, realistic and off-the-wall crazy worries – my imagination enhances each and every one. This post is nowhere close to all-inclusive but it will give you an idea of what I mean.
As a kid, my major worrying started when my mom drove to the post office or the delicatessen or the S & H Green Stamp store and left the three of us outside in the car. Yes, in the 50’s, even good parents did that. I visualized the emergency brake failing and the car rolling downhill, building up speed, racing past stores, houses and pedestrians, and finally crashing into a bus or
a gigantic brick wall somewhere. I always sat very still to avoid joggling the car’s brakes; but, naturally, the other brainless occupants of the car were oblivious to this dangerous situation and bounced around in the back seat, heedless of impending doom. I did also have serious worrying attacks the two times I rode on the Wild Mouse roller coaster at Coney Island which obviously was ready to jump its tracks and plunge to the ground at any second, but a discussion of amusement park rides needs to wait for a future post.
As an adult, I have had plenty to worry about on vacations because, when you travel with a person like Paul, most of your trips don’t involve relaxing in a beach chair, dozing by the fireside in a ski lodge or driving through the National Parks. At the beach, I visualize either a sailboat cruise ending in a capsized boat and one or both of us getting conked on the head by the mast or a snorkel trip ending with my fin trapped in a coral reef, my snorkel tube bitten through by a moray eel and me disappearing in a cascade of bubbles like Lloyd Bridges on “Sea Hunt.” On ski trips, I worry about riding on a chairlift whose cable would snap, hurling me into the middle of a double black diamond ski run or being sideswiped by a zoned out snowboarder or careening out of control into trees or off a cliff, even though David and John say they can ski backwards faster than I ski forward. On our trips out
West I worried about falling off a horse, being swept away crossing a stream, or waking up during the night with a bear in the tree just outside our tent which, when it actually happened, didn’t cause me to lose any sleep at all. Anyway, I'm not exactly in a rush for those vacations to end but I always sleep easier once the mask and snorkel are rinsed out for the last time, the rental skis are returned, and the hiking boots are packed up.
Of course, having kids opens up many vistas, including vast expanses of worry. Many of these worries involve wondering if all your efforts at parenting will result in a well adjusted adult child who enjoys your company or if your efforts will make you the subject of a book, a movie and panel discussions on “Oprah” and “The View” about how not to raise children. I think we are in the first category (or if we’re in the second category, I haven’t found out yet) but a lot of it is just plain good luck.
In addition to the ordinary kid worries, I also had some extraordinary ones. As 11-year-olds, David and John
each spent a month abroad with Children’s International Summer Village. The experience gave them the opportunity to meet kids from many other countries, to learn about other cultures and to have an adventure without parents hovering in the background. The experience gave me the opportunity for some pretty creative worrying. I must say, I didn’t really worry that much about David when he went to Italy. After all, what was to worry about with your kid in the country that invented pizza, chianti and tiramisu. His group leader, a fifth grade teacher, was a seasoned traveler and so thorough on details that she even asked our permission for the kids to have wine if their host families offered it. Paul, the perfect laid-back parent, replied, “Sure, David can have wine. In fact, he can do anything except drugs and sex and if he has to choose one of those, I’d rather it be sex.”
When John was chosen to go to an exotic place like Honduras with a leader barely out of college, it was a different story. My imagination went kind of crazy, fueled by the list of don’ts from the travel medicine doctor and the list of potential side effects on the malaria pills he prescribed for John. We didn’t get any reassuring phone calls or letters (that was before e-mail, texting, and twittering were invented) so I worried for the entire month. My stomach was in such an uproar that I lost about 5 pounds which shows there is an up side to everything.
John loved his trip and brought home souvenirs like a Jordanian flag, a Mexican sombrero and a machete as long as his leg plus wonderful memories. When I heard about all of his adventures, however, I did a lot of
post-trip worrying. He ate most of the items on the “do not eat” list including fried fish, tails and all, from an outdoor stand. (He didn’t eat the only truly safe thing, bananas, because he inherited the banana-haters gene on chromosome 14 from me.) After he told me they had gone swimming in a river, I kept watching him for those little worms that skitter across your eyeballs until I remembered they’re from Africa. When he spent the weekend with a local family, he was impressed by the armed guard at their gate and the brick wall topped with broken glass and wire that surrounded their property. He talked a lot about those cool, crossed belts that hold bullets (bandilleros?), worn by the guards with machine guns in the luxury hotel lobbies.
Being over 50 brings a new set of worries about getting older. Is this twinge in my knee the start of arthritis, a wake up call for a knee replacement or just an excuse to put off housework and major exercise for awhile? YES!! Are there enough hours in the day for me to consume all the vitamins and anti oxidants and flavonoids and calcium and other healthy stuff I’m supposed to need in order to live to be 400? Is the opthalmologist telling me the truth when he says I'm not going blind when I see those little floaters in my left eye? Am I losing it if I find the phone in the refrigerator and put on deodorant probably three or four times each morning because I keep forgetting if I’ve already done it?
My worrying isn’t totally over now that my kids are adults, although I am getting better. I was a little concerned about the riots and airport closures in Thailand a few weeks before David and Megan were scheduled to travel there; but my mom took over worrying about that trip so I was off the hook. I thought I
was going to have a sleepless June when John decided to spend most of the month traveling around Europe alone, but, after he left, I felt pretty calm and didn’t email him warnings about terrorists in Berlin, gypsy cabs in Barcelona or bedbugs everywhere. (Well, maybe I gave one teensy weensy little warning about bedbugs.) And as for worrying about Willem . . . I’ll leave that to David and Megan.
and guitars, amps, cords and pedals everywhere. You get adult kids who play the piano and the guitar effortlessly and well, and you get one who occasionally shares his own wonderful compositions with us. What you don’t get is the next Frank Sinatra. 
