Bud Grossmann’s Words of the Week for the Week of September 16, 2012 Published as Family History in a Gramma Letter dated September 13, 1994. © 1994 by Bud Grossmann. All Rights Reserved.   Barn, 2012 © 2012 by Bud Grossmann A FLICKER OF FEAR Tuesday, September 13, 1994 Dear Gramma,       At age ninety-three, Grandma G., do you have any fears of anything at all? That might seem an odd question, but I will ask it again, at the end of this letter, after I describe an incident, an occurrence, we might say, something that I imperfectly recall from just about thirty years ago.       A little after the TV was turned off for the night one evening in late summer when I was fifteen, during the year my mom and the kids lived on the farm with you and Grampa while my dad was overseas, your dog Spike, chained in the yard, began to bark-bark-bark. You and I looked out the dining room window and noticed a dim light moving in the clover field or among the locust trees or along the driveway beyond the barn.       In those days, there weren’t any neighbors’ lights that we could see from the house, and we were too far from the Town Line Road to see headlights, though we occasionally would hear a car going past the farm. This looked to be a flashlight or a dim lantern or possibly a bicycle light flickering and disappearing and reappearing in the cool and moonless dark. Someone was on the place who didn’t belong there, and whoever it was seemed to be moving into the barnyard, not following the driveway toward the house.       Grampa was not at home. He was working nights at the county home, running the powerhouse over there in Wyocena, right where you live now. So I was the man of the house, and it was my duty to investigate this light, this trespasser in the night.       I put on a jacket, grabbed a 6-volt lantern, a box of .22 shells, and my dad’s old bolt-action rifle, and I stepped outside onto the porch. I stepped right back in again.       “Gramma, I’m scared!” I said.       “Oh, pshaw!” you scoffed. “What are you scared for, Buddy? You’ve got a rifle!” So I went out the door again, put a cartridge in the chamber and a few loose shells in my jacket pocket and—leaving the big flashlight turned off—started walking toward the barn. The gravel of the driveway crunched beneath my feet. So I walked in the grass, which was damp with dew. Fog hung in the tops of the locusts. My sneakers were soaked in an instant.       I began to practice in my mind what I might say when I confronted this intruder. Hold it right there, mister—I’ve got a gun! Or maybe, Make a move, fella, and you’re a dead man! I figured it must most likely be a man, not a woman, walking about, up to no good in the night, on other people’s property. Sir, might I inquire about the nature of your business here? I was still scared, Gramma.       And when I got out to where the rusted old cast-iron water pump stood, at the corner of the fenced barnyard, I felt a rush of doubt about what you had told me. “Buddy, you’ve got a rifle!” Yes, sure, Gramma, I do have a rifle, but it’s a single-shot .22, for heaven’s sake. This’ll bring down a squirrel, but how much good is it against an escaped convict, maybe, with a revolver of his own?       So I stood by the pump there a minute, feeling the night breeze upon my perspiring neck, feeling the rifle heavy and slippery in my sweating hand. Once more your words came back to me, and I could hear the utter confidence in your voice: “What are you scared for, Buddy!” Then the light shone again, now inside the barn. Forward I went.       Well, not every story has an ending, and I’m afraid this particular story does not have one that I am prepared to put into print. Maybe someday it will. While we are waiting for me to complete it, I will allow our readers to finish it on their own.       By your faith in God and guns, dear Grandmother, by your certainty that you could handle whatever came along, you have given courage and confidence to your children and grandchildren. But I would like to ask you, Do you, at this time in your life, have fears that your children or grandchildren might help you face? Let us know. We love you. We wish you peace.                       Love,                       Buddy         ARCHIVES         Click for a list of other Words of the Week I would welcome your thoughts on this page (or any of my others).  Write to me at the following address.  Please be sure to spell Grossmann with two n’s and mention what page you are writing about. Thanks!  BUD GROSSMANN Top of this page | HOME | Fine Photography | Picture of the Day | Writings | | Words of the Week | Mom & Pop Prop. Mgt. | FAQ |

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