There was no boy that scared me during my childhood. I just didn’t consider them a threat but fellow children that I played with.
Grown up man, on the other hand, well I knew that they could be dangerous. With all the preaching “don’t talk to strangers, don’t take anything from strangers, don’t get close to strangers”…one would have to be insane not to be scared.
I remember one particular person I was always afraid of. I didn’t even go past the place he usually sat during the day, as to not meet him. No, he never did me any harm, he probably didn’t know I existed. But still somehow he caused my heart to tremble in fear and my legs to start running in the opposite direction, as far away as I could.
He was an old man with a beard and a wooden cane. The man used to sit on a stool in front of his house and soak in the summer sun or observe snow in winter. Why did he intimidated me so? Who knows? Least to say, even after his death it took me some time to pass bravely by his house.
To this day I don’t take that route. Old habits die hard.