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This really should’ve been a part of the prior entry.
As a teenager I was afraid to take out the trash after dark. The trashcan was maybe thirty feet from my backdoor. Our yard was fended in. And as far as I can recall nothing bad had ever happened to anybody.
I was terrified of the dark.
Perhaps because my parents had always left a light on the house. Darkness was unknown.
Or - the universal solvent of my psyche - because my father’s unforeseeable aggressions made me into a milksop. If in your own home you are never sure when emotional violence will breakout you just become afraid. Of almost everything.
Once away from home my fear of the dark fell away as if it had never been. In the early hours of the morning I’d prowl Atlanta’s back alleys just for the pleasure of becoming acquainted with the City of the Night. Those expeditions ended when three guys pulled knives out on me.
I don’t recall ever being timid as an adult. Nor brave. While I’ve done many things without worrying about my safety I’ve never had to confront a threat.
So I can claim to have overcome timidity I’ve never had to be brave: to prove myself.
Honestly: at this stage of my life I’d rather that I never have to. But it leaves me without any sureness of what I can offer another.