A Letter From The Editor
SEPTEMBER 2016 PARKER COUNTY TODAY
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Mark Twain once said , “ I ’ ve lived through some terrible things in my life , some of which actually happened .”
My take on Twain ’ s words is that the majority of the things that we fear , that we stress over , the things that cause us the most anxiety , never happen . A lot of them aren ’ t a real threat in the first place .
It ’ s a lesson that I learned as a very young child . When my parents would go out for the night or out of town they ’ d leave us in the charge of either a cute teenager named Marion Alice or my childless aunt . Both let us get by with murder , would let us stay up all hours of the night and would indulge us with candy and ( gasp ) soft drinks . Worst of all , they would allow me to watch Nightmare Theater ( Yikes !). The reason that was a bad idea is that Nightmare Theater was appropriately named . Small children ( I was 4 or 5 ) would tend to have nightmares after watching Nightmare Theater .
The format was this — a guy in a bad suit and hat accompanied by another dressed up in a really bad gorilla suit would introduce a horror film and then they ’ d appear after commercials and eat popcorn and comment on how scary the movie was , just in case the little kids watching the movie didn ’ t realize how frightening it was .
After one of these babysittersanctioned B-movie viewings , I would wake up in the middle of the night screaming from the nightmares . It was very Bonnie Blue Butler out of GWTW . The abundance of soda pop and candy probably didn ’ t help either .
My parents would chew out the babysitter and leave snarky notes on the fridge whenever they left us in the care of either of them . The notes read
something like , “ If you let Marsha watch Nightmare Theater , we will call you when she has nightmares .”
Then the babysitter would grill me , certain that I ’ d ratted her out , “ You told them , didn ’ t you ?” I never did . My parents were smart enough to realize that I had the nightmares after being in the care of one of my indulgent babysitters . After watching House of Wax , the nightmares persisted for months , spurred on by the sight of Vincent Price wearing a really unattractive , badly done mask , peering into Phyllis Kirk ’ s bedroom window . This image was so frightening that the family wiener dog was assigned to guard me and my mother added a nightlight to my room . She ’ d also close the curtains every night after tucking me into bed , but that only made it worse .
“ If he ’ s out there , I won ’ t know it ,” I said . Finally , a much-older voice of reason came up with a solution . “ Doc will know if a scary guy is out there and he ’ ll bark and we ’ ll all come running ,” my brother Mark said . “ You can sleep with my baseball bat .” The bat was the final fix . The wiener dog , the nightlight and the bat — I slept with them for years until the image of Vincent Price peering through the bedroom window of a pretty girl finally faded .
These days I ’ m not so afraid of the dark , but I do stress about other things , like most adults in the business world . I tend to stress about business , about staying ahead in the publishing world , keeping the interest of my loyal longtime readers of the Mature and Baby Boom Generations while holding the attention of Millennials , attracting more of them , staying ahead of the curve , continuing to produce a publication that ’ s relevant . It ’ s a little scary . It ’ s a bit stressful .
Not long ago , the fear of the darkness returned . I was exhausted ; we ’ d just sent the magazine to press . I dragged my tired , achy body home , took a quick , hot shower and fell into bed , too tired to bother closing my bedroom drapes before drifting to sleep . Hazmat , our amazing rescue dog , was at my feet . I heard him snoring as I drifted into a heavy slumber . Even our dog works too much .
I awoke to a strange barking . It wasn ’ t Hazmat ’ s usual nightly alert , letting us know that there is a cat or an armadillo lurking around our moon swept front lawn . This was his serious bark , a bark that was heard only when humans were skulking about . I struggled to open my dry , hot eyes . There he was outside my window , with the melted , sinister face of Vincent Price peering in my window . I groped around the bedsheets for the wooden bat that my brother had given me so long ago , but it had been years since I had taken it to bed with me — decades , in fact .
I noticed that in his gnarled , scarred hands he clutched a periodical bearing the masthead , “ Weatherford / Parker County Living Sports Hometown Today and Everyday Nightmare Lifestyles !” I wanted to scream but my throat was too dry and the only sound that I could make was a pathetic , raspy , choking sob .
Finally , my vocal cords came to life with an impressively loud , bloodcurdling scream . It didn ’ t last long . I woke myself up . The yard was empty . No one was at my window . Hazmat was annoyed . My spouse was not pleased . He asked what was wrong . I assured him that nothing was wrong . I just had a bad dream about Vincent Price going into the publishing business in Parker County . He looked at me pretty much the way he always looks at me whenever I speak , with that baffled , albeit , intrigued expression .
“ It ’ s fine Sweetie ,” I reassured him . “ Do we own a baseball bat ?”
He blinked his sleepy , baffled eyes . “ No , but we have a hockey stick .” I smiled . “ That ’ ll do .” Welcome to Parker County Today ’ s September 2016 Issue . I hope you enjoy reading it . We loved bringing it to you .
Marsha Brown Editor-in-Chief , Publisher , Cat Wrangler , Janitor and Barista of Parker County Today Magazine