Our family took a road trip today and enjoyed a five mile hike through Ohio’s beautiful Hocking Hills.

And, there was climbing…

Did I mention there was climbing?

Our five mile hike took us four hours.

When we got home I made an attempt to be funny and asked, “So, does anybody want to go for a walk?”

And, my nine year old daughter made me wish they could sell her pep-in-a-bottle, when she said, “I do!!”

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When I was eight years old, on an early June afternoon, another eight year old girl who lived a few miles from me was abducted on her way home from school. She was found murdered in a culvert just blocks from her house.

I remember my Mom watching me walk to school the next morning, which she had never done before. I could sense her fear. It was the first time I can recall really being scared.

Shortly after this incident, I had a nightmare that the girl’s killer was in my room. I dreamed that he was hiding behind my bedroom door and I was facing certain death. The murder was never solved, so I have no idea what the killer looked like. But in that nightmare, my eight year old mind had a detailed image. The murderer was Mr. Clean.

In my dream, I slowly pulled the door back to reveal him standing there with a broom. Mr. Clean was sweeping my floor. It took many years before I could buy any of his products. But, those Magic Erasers? Well, they make my heart skip a beat.

My point is that even rational fears can sometimes turn irrational.

Some friends of ours are having a hard time with their daughter. She is suddenly terrified of tornados. Rational? Yes.

When she sees a random gray cloud in the sky, she begins to freak out. Rational? No.

I used to housesit for a neighbor when I was young and they had a cat that would greet me by standing on its hind legs while hissing and baring its teeth. From that experience, I grew to be truly scared of cats. Rational? Yes.

When a friend’s cat comes purring and rubbing against my legs, it might as well be a boa constrictor. Rational? No.

I even know a grown man with a true fear of clowns.

I know we’re not alone. There must be at least one person out there who is scared of Aunt Jemima or who cowers at the sight of cheerleaders. I want to make our friends feel better about what’s going on with their daughter. So boys and girls…what’s your irrational fear?

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Almost a month ago, my six year old son’s fingertip was smashed in a door and cut off. He was taken to the hospital, where the tip was reattached and we were told there was a 50/50 chance of it taking. It didn’t.

Last week, after the doctor told us the tip would eventually fall off like a big scab, I explained to my son that his finger may look a little funny when all is said and done. He seemed a bit freaked out by the word “scar”…thanks a lot Lion King…so I had to think fast to reassure him.

I pulled up my left pant leg and pointed to a scar on my shin, where thanks to a menacing 7th grade bully, I had the most painful wound of my life.

I had just entered 8th period science class, and was approaching the teacher’s desk which was perched on a stage with metal trim all around the top edge. As I was passing said bully, he stuck his foot out and tripped me. At the place where two metal pieces joined together to form a perfect point, my skin was pierced. I fell, shin first, into the corner of the stage. The hole it left went nearly to my bone.

I then showed him the bottom of my foot. My family had been tearing down my Grandmother’s garage, when I stepped down onto a board that had a long nail sticking out of it. The nail went through the sole of my shoe, right into my heel. My cousin and I went to the emergency room together, because shortly after I pulled off my bloody sock, she swung an axe directly into her shin.

After that, I displayed the mark on my right forearm where I once slashed myself with a wallpaper scraper. It left quite a scar, because instead of going for stitches I wrapped up the wound with paper towels and duct tape.

I explained to my boy, that although these things hurt at one time, the scars they left behind don’t hurt me at all now. But, by the look on his face, I don’t know if I reassured him or frightened him even more.

Because I like to twinge in discomfort…tell me folks, what was your most painful injury?

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