Here is an article included in my column that was printed in June, 2010:
“A Dream Come True”
The creepiest line an author can put into a children’s story is, “And all their dreams came true…” Any narrator who says that in a movie is asking for trouble.
I’m smart enough to get that little girls are supposed to hear that part about all of their dreams coming true and just glow with anticipation about the story of the princess and the fairy-tales and the castles. But think about it. What would really happen if your last dream came true? The thought of almost any of my nightly dreams actually coming true makes me want to either call the police or a therapist as a preemptive strike.
For instance, about a week ago I dreamed that I received a call from some lady offering to let me look through her parents’ home to see if I wanted to buy it. In reality, our family is looking for a new home, so this dream didn’t surprise me. She explained that her mother had passed away four years previous and her father had passed away a week before she called me. She thought I might like their home and invited me to take a look.
I arrived at the home, walked through the door, and realized that I was the only one there. The house was pretty nice. There were some plates in the sink and a few items of folded laundry hanging over a chair. I wouldn’t say the house was dirty at all, but it did look a bit “lived in”, like maybe the family hadn’t cleaned up before my visit. But it was fine.
Having finished the self-guided tour of the upstairs, I wandered down into the basement to see the living room and master bedroom. Nice enough. In fact, I really started thinking that this house could be a possibility for our family. The last thing I needed to check was the master bedroom.
The door of the bedroom swung open easily. There was a musty, mothball-like smell. And then, there it was. Actually, I should say, there he was. The father. In bed. Dead. Yes, you read that right. He was still in his bed and he was extremely, unmistakably dead. No one had bothered to take him out of the house even though he had been dead a week!
He didn’t look gross or anything. He just looked…well…dead. He was still sitting up with a funny look on his face while he grasped the bed-sheet up to his chest. I screamed. Then I woke up.
My heart was pounding when I woke up and I was all sweaty and I stayed there in my bed, my blood racing through my veins, ready to go into “fight or flight” mode. That was a horrible dream.
And, by the way, we’ve decided to build rather than buy, thank you.
So, the princess movie narrator guy wants me to “come to a place where all of my dreams will come true”? No thanks. That’s about the scariest option I can think of…