I Am Afraid

Of heights, deep water, spiders, zombies and ghosts, driving in heavy rain, dark.

            I am afraid my children will never forgive me and will think I was a bad mother.  I used to yell at my kids, and their little faces crumpled in pain that I caused, blinking back tears and whispering, “Sorry, Mommy,” when I stopped yelling.  Sometimes I cried, too.

            I am afraid of flunking out of college.  I am too old, too set in my ways, too far past the age when languages come easily, too busy, too dumb, too disorganized.  There is no way I can keep up with these college kids.

            I am afraid of Dr. Nichols, Dr. Tanner, and Professor Legg. 

            I am afraid of meeting new people.  I never know what to say or how to say it.  I am awkward and shy, but I think I come across as snobbish and unfriendly, which makes me more awkward and shy.  I am afraid I’ll never make friends at school, and more afraid that I will.  If I make friends, I have to maintain a relationship with real conversation, more than just casual greetings. 

            I am afraid of emotional exposure, looking foolish, feeling lost, loud noises.  I am afraid that this paper will escape into the public eye . . .