Childhood Trauma

I am afraid of Regis Philbin. This irrational phobia developed after a trauma I suffered years ago. The year was 1990. The Cold War was coming to an end, and so was my mom's laundry washing for the day. The dryer alarm buzzed a few times, and then she handed me my favorite sweater to change into (a stylish knit number with a picture of a kangaroo gracing the front and a real pocket for a pouch filled with a stuffed baby kangaroo torso and head). With my best sweater in hand, I cheerfully skipped to the living room intent on changing my shirt, maybe having a few animal crackers and a juice box, and then popping in Richard Simmon's Sweating to the Oldies and welcoming the day with a flamboyant work-out (sadly, this is how I spent most of my childhood afternoons). However, my plans were interrupted when I noticed the TV had been on the entire time I changed but muted so I hadn't noticed. There was a man on TV who must've seen me change!

Distraught by discovering a peeping tom in my living room/once safe haven, I began to cry. My mom, in the other room, heard my sobbing and came rushing in. She asked me what could possibly be wrong while I was wearing my beloved kangaroo sweater, so I blubbered out enough decipherable words to inform her about the bad man who saw my topless prepubescent body (which, lucklessly, looked very similar to my current, topless postpubescent body). She gave me a warm smile, sat me down, and explained to me that the man on TV is Regis Philbin, and he can't see me. She told me that he is a nice person and hosts a show with Kathy Lee Gifford. I still didn't understand, so I asked her why Regis and Kathy Lee were so small. She sighed, then tried to explain to me video broadcasting, which I was kind of following, until she started talking about cathode rays and electrons and streaming cable, which completely lost me. What the hell.

My mom's blabbering and failure to communicate at a 4-year-old level really started to frustrate me. I didn't want to sound stupid, but, even more, I didn't want her to explain it anymore. With the hopes of shutting her up, I decided it would be best to just pretend to understand. I nodded occasionally and interjected with things like "yeah, I'm totally following this" and "wow, you're making so much sense". Unfortunately, I asked how they lived in the TV, allowing her to see right through my facade. She responded by rolling her eyes, sighing, and muttering something about a mistake and a disappointment, or something. Whatever, I still think Regis Philbin is a huge perv.