Why Should He Put Out My Light?

At around the same time of my little rowing boat adventure at the creek, maybe two or two and a half years of age, according to my mother, I started having recurring nightmares, night after night. I'd run screaming into my parent's bedroom, crying hysterically, and telling the same story over and over. A big, old, dark coloured "vintage" car was chasing me. Of course, I didn't use the word "vintage". I'm just using it now so you'll get the mental picture of what it looked like. It didn't matter where I ran to get away from it, this car followed me, all the while, saying in a spooky, menacingly deep voice "Look out for the big love, look out for the big love", almost singing that word "love". I would run as fast as I could, trying to get away from it. I would jump up and fly over rooftops to get away, but the car would fly too and it was always right behind me. I'd run into houses, and race up narrow hallways hoping it wouldn't be able to fit, but it was still right there. It didn't matter what I did, or where I ran, that damned car was always catching up to me, droning out its monotonous singsong. It was horrifying, and so realistic. I can still recall the dream like it was yesterday. Of course I always ended up in my parent's bed, at least till I dozed off again. Funny about that isn't it? You can run to your parents' bed, but you always seem to wake up the following morning in your own bed! My mother was perturbed as to why I was always having this dream and it was always the same. When the car eventually caught up with me, as it always did, it would pin me to the ground, and it would "stick its crank handle in my belly button", all the while repeating the phrase, "look out for the big love, look out for the big love". That's the story I would repeat to my parents night after night. The old cars in those days, sometimes had to be kicked over with a big crank-handle, which was inserted in the front of the car, and wound round and round until the car engine started. By manually engaging the crankshaft, it would kick over the motor. A lot of cars didn't have electric starter motors in those days. In my dream as a little toddler, it seemed the old car was sticking this "thing", which was the crank-handle, in my belly button! My mother must have thought this to be the most peculiar dream, but unfortunately it didn't make her suspicious of anything or anyone. She'd just console me and tuck me into bed with her, for a while at least. The sound of the owls hooting at night was scary enough without this recurring dream. When I asked the sperm-donor what was making the noise, he would tell me it was the sound of war-planes coming to drop bombs on us, and he'd build my fear up by saying things like "Here they come, better put your head under the covers in case they hit us"! Wasn't he a great "dad"? Sometimes I feel so incredibly "left out", when I hear other women talking about the wonderful bonds they had with their fathers, and how much they loved them, how their fathers treated them like a little princess and nurtured them, as daddy's should. A few years later on, my recurring car nightmare would turn out to be almost prophetic It was a hint of things to come AND obviously a hint of things already happening.