I don’t dream a lot as an adult and — not to be a downer —I think it’s because my mind tends to associate dreaming with unremitting terror. As a very young child, I tended to have nightmares, most of which took their origins from real-life exploits of my surprisingly death-defying childhood. For example, there’s the falling dream, the ‘being chased’ dream and the nightmare where I grow up and write a humor column for the student newspaper at a somewhat-obscure Catholic university.
Actually, one of the most reoccurring dreams I ever had was this one where I would continuously be crashing a car into a forest of trees, and I know exactly which memory this one comes from. One time, when I was about three or four years old, my dad left me in his car with the engine running while he ran into the house to grab some things. Being that I was already a master of driving at my admittedly young age —my Power Wheels was the envy of the neighborhood — I decided it was time I strapped in and moved on up to the big leagues. Somehow, I managed to shift the auto into neutral. Our driveway was on a slope, the car started moving backwards, and I can only imagine I became the happiest child on the face of the planet Earth. Three years old, and driving. What a prodigy.
My dad ended up coming out of the house a few minutes later, after I had picked up some speed. Being that the car was rolling BACKWARDS, I had a full view of him through the windshield, running after me, arms flailing, screaming “NO!” as I crashed the car rear-first into a nearby stone wall.
Side note: I can guarantee my parents will read this with the color slowly sapping from their faces. I, on the other hand, am laughing so much right now it’s difficult for me to finish this senten …
For those of you who simply can’t frame such a situation of childish antics with your mind’s eye, the best frame of reference I can give are those old episodes of Popeye where Popeye would be chasing after that baby of his, Peewee, while enduring extraordinary pain and misfortune as the baby somehow miraculously avoided harm. However, I understand the analogy is a bit of a stretch, so I digress.
My dad couldn’t get the door open after I crashed the car, so he pulled out one of the oversized cans of spinach he always carries with him, ate the contents in mere seconds by pouring it into his mouth, tore the car door off its hinges after suddenly being gifted with superhuman strength, punched Bluto in the face and finished the whole thing by singing a jingle to himself as my memory vignetted to a close.
At least that’s how I remember it.
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