[jyl]

When I was a little kid, my grandparents house had a really big basement, nearly 2000 sq ft. You went down a short flight of stairs from the hall, turned left at the landing, and down some more stairs into the basement.

The basement was pitch dark, no windows, and the only lights were bare bulbs screwed into ceiling sockets with pull chains hanging down, bulbs and chains invisible in the darkness.

The basement was musty, filled with boxes and shelves and piles of things, a maze of terrifying shapes and monsters in the blackness. Did I mention I had a really good imagination, and was reading Tales From The Crypt and other nightmare inducing comics? But it was also full of really cool stuff, boxes of toys and books, bits of machines and vacuum tubes, tricycles and hard hats and other irresistible treasure.

So I had to tip toe forward into the darkness, hands stretched high, dead reckoning for the pull chain, searching back and forth blindly until I grabbed and pulled. Then it was almost worse, because the light bulbs were very dim, I was in a small pool of yellow light surrounded by big dark shapes and blackness, at the mercy of any monster awoken by the pathetic little bulb and the "click" of the switch. After gathering my courage, I had to grope in the direction on the next light, moving into darkness, feeling high above me for the next pull chain. And so on, until I got to a fluorescent tube fixture that actually produced real light.

I'd nervously raid the dusty boxes and shelves, watching the dark corners where the monsters waited, then all the lights had to be turned off, which meant the same terror in reverse order until I could run up the stairs and slam the basement door behind me.

For some reason, I never had a flashlight. Maybe my grandparents didn't believe in them. But sometimes I had my 22 rifle. I knew enough about gun safety to leave the safety on, but it was for sure loaded. Later I would target practice down there until a round ricocheted back and blew a crater in the concrete block wall behind my head. Apparently it's not really a good idea for a 7 year old to have unsupervised access to a rifle.

Eventually I conquered the fear, and could walk calmly through the darkness, casually turning lights on and off. Sort of a mind over, um, mind thing. It's possible that I was twenty-five by then. Or maybe not. I prefer not to remember exactly.

I won't say that basement made me the fearless, stalwart man I am today, because I'm not, but it was a good lesson in facing your fears. And in gun safety.