Granny aka my mother – “Camping? In the Smokies? Will it be a gated campground? Do the boys have thermal underwear? Does Noah know what to do if he sees a bear? What will they do about the cold? What will they eat? Let me know as soon as they are home safe.”
The boys have returned from camping in the mountains without a single bear scratch or bite. What? You don’t fret endlessly about bear attacks? My mother does. She worries about everything and then she looks for more things to be worried about. Even though all of her children have talked about urban legends and shown her the snopes website, she still forwards every panic inducing e-mail that she gets. She phones and checks on us if she hears a siren. She calls her out-of-town children after watching the news. You would think that someone who grew up in Guantanamo jumping on the missile silos for fun would be fearless but she instead does all the worrying for the entire family. She worries so much that the rest of us usually just shrug and move forward without careful introspection because we know that our anxiety quota is being taken care of already. Today I am thankful that my mother is a worrywart.