ABOUT WOMEN
Family's April 1 antics form the root of lifelong paranoia

By Catherine E. Toth
Advertiser Staff Writer

Tying my slippers together was one thing. But using those pull-string poppers was pushing it.

My older brother always had a particular fondness for practical jokes, especially when the target was me.

And to this day — thanks to him — I dread April Fool's Day.

While my high school friends plotted elaborate jokes on boyfriends and our newswriting class geared up for the annual April Fool's issue, I held my breath and prayed I could just make it through the day.

I feared opening my backpack. I double-checked my sandwich before I ate it. I opened doors very carefully.

I always expected something to happen. Because something always did.

Our house operates under this paranoia.

Ask my mom. She can tell you about the learned fear she has of opening her bathroom door, not expecting to see my dad standing there.

He doesn't say anything — just smiles — but the suddenness of his appearance is enough to send my mom into shock.

It's an art he's perfected.

His quiet attempts to freak us out work every time. It's not as though you expect to see anyone just standing there outside the bathroom door, waiting for you as you wash your hands, brush your teeth, wash your hair. He doesn't knock, he doesn't move. He just stands there. Lurking.

Sometimes he'll sneak around the corner, hide in a room and wait for you to walk down the hallway.

No complicated scheme. My dad uses the classic scare technique: jump at you and growl.

Works every time.

My brother, on the other hand, is a little more creative, sometimes planning intricate plots that involve camouflage and duct tape.

Growing up in fear has made me an easy target for pranks.

Although I may be more cautious than most — I still open bathroom doors with great apprehension — I scream well. And I jump every time.

Friends, especially male ones, know this.

I've been the victim of every standard scary moment: Someone hiding in the shower, in the closet, in the back seat of a car. After seeing "Scream" I've been waiting for someone to skulk in the next stall in a public bathroom.

But at the same time I'm desperately clinging to an image I romanticize of strength and fearlessness.

I want to be that tough ideal, someone who loves adventures, who roams the world with deliberate steps, who isn't afraid of anything.

Yet I flinch at sudden movements and hide behind children in horror flicks.

It's pathetic.

Though there is something to be said for paranoia.

My fear ensures my safety. I lock doors, notice details, react quickly.

Not to say that I'm excessive — because I'm not — or that I overreact — because I don't. My parents would probably say that I'm not safety-conscious enough.

But my family's tricky ways have forced me to be more careful, to watch and listen, to make quick decisions.

Especially on April 1.

Reach Catherine E. Toth at 535-8103 or ctoth@honoluluadvertiser.com.