Watching Eyes

I was seven when I felt my first itch to become a man. Looking back, I’m surprised at my courageous venture to scratch that early itch. And it didn’t hurt that I had people.

At that time of my life I lived along a quiet country road that turned east out of a small Ohio town. The first four houses belonged to my immediate and extended family.

All four houses had huge yards and long drives. Each property was separated from the others by a patch of woods. The quarter-mile stretch they sat on was as straight as an arrow and as flat as a pancake, past our abodes and for miles eastward.

My grandparents’ home was the one farthest from the town center. That’s where I spent as much time as I could. One might think Grandpa a stern man at first glance, and maybe he was occasionally. But not to this kid. Or my siblings and cousins.

During the long dog days of summer we’d spend every possible minute fishing in one of two large ponds, playing hide and seek in his yard and adjoining woods, and eating crab apples off his tree till we got bellyaches.

One day I was lucky enough to be the only kid there. I didn’t have to share the spoiling with anyone else. But, since it was getting well into dusk, I knew Grandpa would soon be grabbing his flashlight to walk me home. 

I didn’t want to go. I never wanted to go home when I was at Grandpa’s. Other than that, though, I was feeling OK that evening. It might have been Grandma’s high-octane maple sugar candy, made from their own trees. That coupled with Grandpa telling one of his friends that day that his grandson was “quite the little man.”

Sometimes words pass my lips before I can filter them. I found myself asking Grandpa if I could walk home by myself that night. Isn’t that what little men do? I thought.

Grandpa was a guy who let me take a risk or two, as long as he was nearby to minimize any negative consequences. And it was not even a quarter mile home. He paused briefly, then walked into the office section of the house to call Dad. 

I couldn’t quite read Grandpa’s face when he came back out. Was it a serious look or was he hiding a smile?  Maybe serious smile would be the best way to describe it.

Grandpa walked with me to the end of his long driveway. He gave me his flashlight, which was as long as my arm. He told me to move over into the ditch if a car happened by, which at this time of day was unlikely.  

This was a big moment for a little guy. I waved goodbye and moved forward confidently, at least as long as I could turn around and still see my grandfather. About then, however, an ominous cloud began to drift over the moon. Grandpa’s features faded till he was a mere silhouette. I shined the powerful beam back at him and he waved, the grandpa version of thumbs up, which gave me just enough confidence to keep going.

I could not believe how dark it suddenly was, but at least I had a metal flashlight powered by six batteries to illuminate my way. This would be a piece of cake. 

Almost simultaneously, though, the thought occurred to me that it would also be a piece of cake for any monsters in the woods to spot me.

Have you ever had a feeling you were being watched? I did, and quickly turned my light off to give those Black Cat Eveready D-batteries a chance to cool down.

At first, I couldn’t see a thing. Slowly my vision started to recover, but unfortunately, it was my peripheral that kicked in first. I didn’t have to turn my head towards the woods to see the pairs of glowing eyes scoping out their next meal—or considering my stature, their next snack.

I switched the light back on but pointed it downward.

Something I’d heard—or maybe information passed along in my DNA—warned me against running down the road. That would guarantee a pack of boogeymen would immediately follow suit. They just can’t help it.

I squinted forward and could see I was nearing my uncle’s yard, the halfway point to home and safety. I forced myself to turn my head slightly so I could see his house. The only visible lights were two small windows. Though they looked like angry eyes, I considered a detour. Those lights came from his office where I’m sure he was working on his sawmill accounts.

Then I heard a sound come from his yard that was somewhere between a hoot and a howl. That was enough to keep me from making an unannounced visit. My heart raced faster. Once again, I focused on the road ahead.

I had to pass another chunk of woods before I reached my own driveway. Even though I had only a couple football fields of distance to cover and the night was cool, I was melting down.

As I readied to surrender to a full-fledged sprint, boogeymen be hanged, I looked ahead and noticed a light moving up and down in a signaling motion. At the same time, I heard my father’s voice. That was him waiting at the end of the driveway for me. I stifled the urge to run, if only because I knew little men just didn’t.

No wonder I felt like I was being watched. I’d bet now that Grandpa walked close behind me. We both knew that I wasn’t going to turn around and look back. Uncle Bill was probably out in his yard as the lookout. That would explain the spooky sounds. And I know Dad was likely wearing his running shoes so he could dash a hundred yards or two if I needed help. 

Dad kept any comments he might have had about my red, wet eyes to himself when we walked into the house. But he did say how proud he was of me. 

While at my grandparents’ the following day, Grandpa bragged about my exploit to Grandma, my sister, a few cousins, and even his friend who had visited the day before. To borrow a line my preacher used recently, I think my first chest hair popped out that day,

I guess we men spend most of our lives trying to prove our manhood. Fortunately for me, I’ve always had people watching out for me in that quest. Family, friends, teachers, preachers.

But even in those times where there is no human presence around me, I still feel like I’m being watched over.

For example, even when I’m all alone, I’ll say excuse me after I burp. Is it because I’ve been trained by the women in my life to be polite? Maybe. Or is it because I sense a presence with me, that I’m not really alone? According to the Bible, we’re not.

Psalms 33:13 says that “From heaven the Lord looks down and sees all mankind; from his dwelling place he watches all who live on earth.”

He’s not only up in heaven, he’s very close. Philippians 4:5b-6a (ESV) states, “The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything . . .”

There are also angels. Hebrews 1:14 says, “Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit salvation?” There are even a few places in the Bible that describe the angels as “watchers.” 

And there are people I can’t see that I feel are cheering me on. Hebrews 12:1 talks about a cloud of witnesses. Those people, listed in Hebrews 11, include Abraham, Moses, and Jacob.

Now those three, despite all of their flaws, were some real men. That’s a huge motivation not to cry the next time I get spooked walking a lonely road on a dark night. Even if I encounter something more dangerous than fireflies.

Feature photo by Josephine Vyeda on Unsplash