My youngest, 12, asked about our greatest fears while eating dinner. Everyone sort of looked around at one another not wanting to go first. So I asked her what her greatest fears are. She replied that she was afraid her epilepsy would never go away and that she wouldn’t be able to drive. We talked about that for a while; acknowledging that it’s a real possibility and tried to come up with a game plan for what to do if her epilepsy sticks around forever.
But the question hung in the air for the rest of us. As a mom, my biggest fear is supposed to be something happening to my children. Right? But that’s not really my greatest fear. In some sense I’ve accepted that things will happen to my children that break their hearts and mine. We’ve already gone through some pretty heavy stuff together. I know that together we’ll face whatever the world throws at us, like it or not.
My biggest fear…the fundies are right. Yes, laugh if you must. But that is my biggest fear–the Christian Fundamentalists are right. I grew up with Southern Baptist fire and brimstone. My aunt and uncle didn’t celebrate Christmas because it was not a biblical mandate. Instead they traveled around in their converted school bus and held tent revivals. On my 13th birthday I received a long letter detailing how I was bound for hell unless I repented and turned toward God. At my grandmother’s funeral they stuffed Chick Tracts in everyone’s pockets and purses. I could go on and on. My greatest fear is that those whackadoos and their ilk are right. I’m confident they are not. I’m nearly positive that they are not. However, I know enough to know that it’s possible, that I don’t have the express line to the one true religion.