Category: Traumafessions

I was a massive GHOSTBUSTERS fan as a child and watched the cartoon show religiously; catching my first glimpse of Cthulhu and getting freaked out by the Sandman. One episode was particularly horrifying, though I can't remember much of the plot. Egon's soul had been kidnapped by some nasty spooks, and while the rest of the team prepared a rescue, the ghosts bided their time by stretching the soul out like a canvas and using it like a trampoline. As a tot, I was terrified both by the thought of evil spirits stretching and jumping on me, and by the existential horror of somehow having one's soul abducted in the first place.

AUNT JOHN SEZ: For some really nice "spoilers, salty language, and occasional NSFW imagery" from Knarf Black, be sure to check out VIDEO UPDATES!

Dearest Kinderpals:

Having been a loyal reader of your site for some time now, I have long put off doing what I know I must do. Confess my own trauma. While I was scarred for life by the usual suspects, THE WIZARD OF OZ, ads for FRIDAY THE 13TH, HALLOWEEN on network TV and every movie shown by our former local late night scare host, Sammy Terry; however, none of these hold a candle to the real innocence killer. I speak, of course, of National Geographic.

I always knew that if I ever wrote to you, that it would be about this magazine, but never had the impetus to do so until my 10 year old son came home from school the other day talking obsessively about an issue of this snuff rag that he had looked at in his school library. He was particularly bothered by a picture of someone holding up a bloody machete. Suddenly a rush of flickering images filled my head. Every picture that had ever troubled my youthful slumber flashed in front of my eyes.

When it comes to traumatic imagery National Geographic has it all. Dead bodies, war torn villages, unflinching nudity and stories that can send a young mind reeling. I remember being 10 and the school talking to us about "our changing bodies" then seeing naked tribes folk in NatGeo and thinking, "Is that what mine will look like?" Only to turn the page and see the same people butchering a goat. Excuse me, I need to call my therapist….

Better now. The part of all of this that amazes me is that I still read it. I have a subscription. I still encourage my son to read it as well. It continually woos me with its come hither covers of green-eyed Afghani lasses and stories of hope in the middle-east. And I keep answering its Siren's call.

Needless to say, while my son was recounting what he had seen and trying to play it off as nothing he couldn't handle, I saw right through him. In a strange way, it was a nice bonding moment. Father and son, repressing memories together. Now that's family values.

Kindertrauma, you are healing the nation one confession at a time! Keep it up!

Traumatically yours,

Dylan Donnie-Duke Dalai Lama

I'm a 35 year old father of a ten year old daughter… and I STILL HATE the "Yip-Yips" or aliens from SESAME STREET.

As a kid in the 1970s I'd tear out of the room screaming when they came on, it was that bad. I never understood why they messed with me so badly until a few years ago: Their eyes, almost disembodied unlike just about every other Muppet creation, resemble those of predators as they attack: wide open, large pupils, focused directly on you.

I realized this while looking at a photo of an owl in a magazine and couldn't figure out why the photo was making me uneasy… I like owls… and then it hit me.

Nowadays they're a lot less spooky; they sing, hang out with other Muppets, even have a baby alien all their own. But I still find a reason to leave the room…

For some reason, it's always the ones with animals that get me the worst.

As everyone knows from seeing CUJO (a movie that made me wary of my family's poodle for weeks), rabies is pretty damn scary. I was far more deeply scarred by a cartoon public service announcement I saw back in the early '80s or very late ‘'70s. It was animated, a simple line drawing of a friendly dog with a wagging tail on a plain white background. As the camera pushed in, however, the dog lost his friendly expression . . . eyes grew hard and flinty, lips curled in a snarl, foam dripping from the mouth. And then it lunged at the camera as the voice over rather needlessly reminded us not to pet strange dogs. I hid behind the couch when that one came on.

There was another one in a very similar style where a dog is closed in a hot car and dying. You think I'd be happy to see it go after that rabies commercial, but nooooo, it was time to run out of the room and weep. The P.S.A.s of that time period were high octane nightmare fuel. I was completely unstrung by the one warning us not to play in abandoned fridges because we could be locked in and asphyxiate. The idea of being trapped in a tiny space in the utter darkness, slowly running out of air and crying for help unheard was about the worst fate I could imagine. This was about 25 years ago that I saw it and when I accidentally shut my kitten in the fridge for about 5 seconds (he meowed to be let out), I almost had a freaking panic attack. I was sweaty and having heart palpitations for a long time afterward, and I blame that damn P.S.A.

About the worst ever wasn't quite kindertrauma, since I saw it when I was in college, but I'll share anyways because it's one more in a long line of these things. This was back when Animal Planet had just gone on the air. I only saw the P.S.A. once – that was enough. Apparently it was for a rescue organization that saved pets from disasters when their owners had to be evacuated. It starts with a long shot of a sweet old lady in her rocking chair, hugging her cat (which looked identical to my cat at the time). We can hear sirens, people yelling and crying in the distance, the sound of running feet. The camera slowly pushes in. We hear knocking, and a man's voice calling out, asking if anyone is in there, telling her she needs to get out. The old woman only hugs the cat tighter and whispers that she'll never leave him behind. I swear to you, I am tearing up as I write this! That poor grandmother is going to DIE because the evil evacuation people would otherwise make her leave behind her beloved pet to certain DEATH, and now they're both DEAD DEAD DEAD.

Thanks, Animal Planet, you bastards. I cried like a baby when I saw it, and then when I laughingly tried to describe my reaction – rather weird, since as an adult I love horror movies and that sort of thing – I started to cry again. It's been years, but if I ever had to cry on cue, all I'd have to do is think of that P.S.A.

I'm writing to say that I think I'm seeing a future Traumafession happen right before my eyes. My son is almost two years old. He loves toy trains. He loves books about trains. If he sees trains on T.V. he'll shout out "Choo-Choo!" but there's one show that seems to terrify him to no end…

THOMAS THE TANK ENGINE.

We bought him the DVD thinking he would love it. We read the Thomas books and he never has a problem with them. The second he sees them in motion though, it's like all the secrets of hell have been revealed to him. He starts shaking his head in disbelief shouting "No! No! No!" He slowly backs up and startles at their every move on screen, then he runs out of the room in a panic.

My first thought was thinking, "C'mon kid! Toughen up!" but then I tried to look at the show through his eyes. Real model trains with odd static faces where only the eyes moved from side to side. Speaking, but not moving, like giant locomotives plotting via telepathy. I could kind of see how a toddler might be weirded out by that, but still…

…Maybe we should watch RETURN TO OZ instead.

As a child I used to think that the natives in the show were spirits and they were under my bed. I was afraid that if I dropped my hand or foot over the side, or if I got up in the night to go to the bathroom, they would attack me. I would never get up once the light was turned off. I didn't realize this until I saw the show again on Cartoon Network a few years ago. How big our fears are when we are so small and how small they become when we are grown!

Back in the day, LP covers were far more than merely a dust jacket for your music; they were a tangible, as well as sizeable purchase of artwork you could either skim over, or get lost in, depending on the artist's efforts.

As a young child sifting through my friend's older brother's LP collection, the music had nothing to do with an album cover. In fact, I'm not even sure I associated the two. It was the mid-to-late ‘70s, and we would marvel over, among others, the Molly Hatchet covers featuring work from Frank Frazetta, esteemed fantasy art illustrator. I'd love to say that these spooky covers were traumatic, but they weren't. The slightly embarrassing admission I have is that it was the cover of Elton John's "Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy" that had us both repeatedly awestruck, and then later for me, provided the fodder for nightmares. I'm sure it wasn't Elton's intention; (although maybe…) what is presented without a detailed breakdown is a fantastical Alice in Wonderland-type surreal hodgepodge illustration featuring mostly animal/human hybrids, bubbles, plants and music themes that spanned the entire front and back cover….but now looking back at it, it really has much more of a Hieronymus Bosch flavor to it, a la the "Hell" panel from "The Garden of Earthly Delights." I can't pinpoint exactly what had me so unnerved, but there would be the Masked Ringleader in my dream, along with his minions of tendrilled human-birds, frogs with steps down their backs, and the little pellet-pooping cobble-pot wearing record-player dwarf, ready to wreak havoc on my psyche.

Nothing freaked me out more than falling asleep on the couch while watching T.V. with my folks and waking to see this National Film Board of Canada short called FACES:

AUNT JOHN SEZ: To see more from our neighbor to the North Kal, be sure to check out CALVIN'S CANADIAN CAVE OF COOL.

I haven't seen this mentioned here before, so I would like to tell you how traumatic the Dr. Dolittle talking doll was for me. It was issued in 1967, by Mattel I believe, to tie in with the film of the same name starring REX HARRISON. In 1967 I was three.

I don't know if I had even seen the movie, but somehow I knew I wanted a talking Pushmi-Pullyu doll (the furry, cute, two-headed llama from the film). My mother, in her generous nature, told my grandmother that this could be her gift to me for Christmas; so my grandmother was to get me the Pushmi-Pullyu and make me a happy child. My mother should have known better. My grandmother was notorious for completely messing up her gift-giving (going back to wind-up swing she was supposed to get me as a toddler, which I never got, which also traumatized me, but that is another story). Needless to say, Grandma bought me a talking Dr. Dolittle doll instead. When I opened the box, and saw that evil looking plastic grin, I let out a scream, burst into tears, and threw it on the floor. This creepy thing makes the evil clown doll from POLTERGEIST look friendly. I NEVER wanted to see it again.

However, the story gets worse. Did my parents get rid of this Devil Doll? Are you kidding? Not a chance. This damned doll moved with us TWICE. Each new house we moved into, the doll had to be hidden away so I wouldn't have to look at it. I finally was able to convince my cousin to take it off my hands when I was about 11 (I am not sure what he did with it, but hopefully it involved gasoline and matches). Why didn't my parents give it away, or toss it? I am convinced it was some sort of parental plot to keep me in line: "Behave or Dr. Dolittle will get you while you sleep." Shudder. Even now at 44.

Great site…!

I'd just like to add my 2 cents:

Like all children I was traumatized by that hermaphroditic, blotchy-faced freak Lady Elaine Fairchilde on MISTER ROGER'S NEIGHBORHOOD… but am I the only one who got seriously freaked out by the Purple Panda Bear in the Land of Make Believe…?

I mean, an alien panda bear, with freaky shiny eyes, that talks like a 50's robot, can appear and disappear at will…

Keep up the good work, as we work out our collective issues.