Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: EERIE (07/28/16)
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TITLE: Those Difficult Days | Previous Challenge Entry
By Roy Proctor
08/02/16 -
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We lived in Ypsilanti, Michigan during those difficult days. My dad was an electrician and worked at the bomber plant at a location known as Willow Run. So, our area was a prime target for German bombers that the authorities thought could reach the shores of America.
Trying to understand those days was difficult for a five year old boy. On several occasions, Mother called me inside long about dusk. “Come on in and take your bath to get ready for bed,” she said.
“But mom, it won’t be dark for another two hours.”
“I don’t care, get in here.”
The unexplained urgency in her voice told me to heed her call. I knew that any delay would initiate the stern utterance of all three of my names. And that would place me in serious trouble.
So, there I sat with my sister and our parents huddled close together in total darkness. The only light in the room was the dial on the radio.
“But mom, why are we sitting here, it’s so dark?”
“Just … don’t ask,” mom said.
“Do what you’re told,” came the stern command from my dad.
I knew that when both mother and dad spat out the same command, I better heed it with no questions asked.
It seemed that the same man was on the radio every night. The tone of his voice suggested that he was a man of great authority. With a New England accent he said several times, “We have nothing to fear but fear itself.”
The four of us sat close together on the sofa. We were engulfed in fear that could not be explained. It was like a black cloud that was about to descend upon us.
My sister, three years older than I, always asked, “Mother, do you think Uncle Orel is okay?” Our favorite Uncle had to go away, the reason for which I didn’t fully understand or accept.
Mother always said, “Oh, I think so. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
Daylight didn’t do much to alleviate the mysterious fear. The Kindergarten I attended was housed in a large brick building that looked more like a prison than a school. The other kids in my class, as well as the teachers, seemed to house the same fear that haunted me.
Once on the playground some kids pretended to bomb the Germans. “Wipe em all out!” they shouted.
“Oh, children don’t do that,” our teacher pleaded. “Let’s go back inside and I’ll read a funny story.”
Occasionally, I would hear adults say strange things. “Looks like all of us might be speaking German, don’t you think?”
“Or something worse.”
“Oh, dear God don’t even think about all of that.”
“I’ve got my trusty shot gun if they come after me.”
“Fat chance you’d have against tanks and machine guns.”
We endured those fearful days along with rationing of food and all other things one normally buys. New cars were impossible to find. But things did get back to normal after several years of global conflict. We had moved back to the farm, the reasons for which I was to discover at a later time.
Many new rounds of fear have confronted me in my 70 some years of life. But I have a weapon against fear now. I have learned of a valuable source from our God who inspired the writer of 2 Timothy 1:7 to tell us, “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” (NKJV)
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