Lisa's Lines: The gift of childhood myths

By: 
Lisa Ingabrand

I remember being scared to go down into my family’s unfinished basement by myself when I was young.

My family’s rule was that you could only have one can of pop a day, and I wanted my quota, but the pop was stored down in the basement. Getting one required me racing down the steps, averting my eyes from a spooky backroom area, dashing to the stash of pop, grabbing one, and then racing back up the stairs.

To this day, I have no idea why the basement bothered me.

In later years, the dark, cool basement became my retreat where I could craft and read and relax without anyone—besides my childhood cat—disturbing me.

It was just one of those odd things I did as a child. I laugh about it now, but I still remember the sense of dread that would come over my younger self at the thought of having to go ALL THE WAY down to the deep, dark, scary basement solo.

Well, as it turns out, my daughters are equally as imaginative as I.

I recently overheard 13-year-old Anna harassing Ellen about not closing one of the air vents near her seat in our vehicle. After listening to the bickering for a few minutes, I questioned Anna as to why it mattered to her if Ellen’s vent was open or not. Then, both girls burst out laughing.

It all stems from a myth that Anna planted in her little sister’s head years ago.

More on this in the Dec. 15 edition of the Messenger.

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