I have two older siblings. One is eight years older; the other six. When I was young, they were allowed (read: forced) to babysit me when the parents went out.
It didn't take them long to figure out that the scariest sound in the world to poor, three-year-old me was the sirens that rang out when the Emergency Broadcast System (EBS) came on TV. The sound more than scared me, it turned me into a quivering ball of teary-eyed jelly.
So what did my adored siblings do when the EBS came on? One would hold me down, while the other raced to the television to crank the volume as high as possible. (Yes, I am old enough to remember when televisions didn't have remote controls.) I would scream and cry and try to get away, but a three-year-old's got nothing on a nine-year-old, and even less on an eleven-year-old. Boy.
Even today, the sound still gets me. I instinctively hit the mute button on the TV or change the channel when I see the telltale green screen or the beginning of that dreaded sound. I've been known to run from other parts of the house just to make the noise stop.
The point of this? That damned EBS has been on at least 3 times this week.
No wonder I can't sleep.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment