A Look From The Other Side

It is a quiet night. You have made sure that the kids are sleeping safely and soundly. You wander the house as you usually do, admiring the smallest things you have come to know and love; the vases, the framed photographs, the books that line the shelves, touching a few items here and there, slightly moving, adjusting a few. Straightening up. You even check on the adults, smiling as you see them interacting so happily and lovingly. You remember when they were once the children you repeatedly checked on during the night, making sure they were safe and sound. Still, you whisper to them, lightly stroke their hair. But it is bittersweet. Always bittersweet. For as clearly as you can see them, they cannot see you. Not always.

And then the doorbell invades the comfortable silence, dropping in the room like a high-pitched bomb. The door is opened, and in they walk; confident, suspicious, sometimes cocky as they spew technical terms that are simply big words for very simple things. You know them. They are the "hunters". And you know why they are there. Someone noticed a knick-knack was moved ever-so-slightly. Someone felt you touch their hair. Someone heard you whisper "hello".

The "hunters" wander the home without regard, poking gadgets into every corner, discussing the bouncing needles on their meters, the flashing lights and beeps and buzzes. Cameras are set up in every room, illuminating each room with the little red lights that the "hunters" cannot even see. Little voice recorders are placed on desks, tabletops, bookshelves. The "hunters" play with their overbearing walkie-talkies in the humble home even though there is no need for them. But you know these little radios make the "hunters" feel important. Eventually, they talk to your "family".

"Do you ever feel threatened?"
"Tell me about the activity."
"Do the children have imaginary friends?"
"Do you see shadows or mists? Hear voices?"
"Have you experienced any cold spots? Foul odors?"

And, of course, you know what comes next. Lights out. Or, for you, on the other side of the "hunt", these words mean it is time to lift the curtain on the stage. And you are expected to perform. You are expected to knock on walls, move curtains, touch the hunters so that they may brag about the experience. You are expected to calmly saunter across the room in front of the humming video cameras, stop and strike a haunting pose for the flashing digital cameras, speak into the voice recorder as you asked the impersonal and thoughtless questions the "hunters" have learned to ask from watching television.

"Is there anyone here with us tonight?"
"Can you make a noise?"
"Can you give us a sign of your presence?"
"Can you walk in front of this gadget so the lights will light up?"
"Can you knock once for yes and twice for no?"
"How many of you are here tonight?"
"Can you tell us your name?"

Many times, these are not even spoken as questions, but as demands. So why should you respond to anything asked of you? You do not know these people. They were not even polite enough to introduce themselves. They were not even polite enough to explain their gadgets and what they do. Maybe at some point during the night you may give them a little knock just for the humor of it all, give them a bit of a thrill, but there will be no "trophies" for these "hunters" tonight.

Eventually, the "hunters" tire of talking into the air, and they leave, disappointed, mumbling amongst themselves, "What a waste of our time!" They will have no photos. no video, no disembodied voices. They will have a slight tap on a wall, which will have occurred at the precise moment the family dog barked in the backyard. But it was not a waste of their time. They were given the chance to act important in the home of others. They got the chance to play with their gadgets and boast to your "family" how "in demand" they were, and how many "cases" they had lined up for the near future. But you know that their future cases will not garner them any evidence, noteriety, or the fame they so desperately seek. These "hunters" are not important. These "hunters" are not professionals. These "hunters" are not even polite. And eventually they will fade away, just as you did. Even your "family" is happy that they have gone, and are commenting on the mess they left behind; empty water bottles and soda cans, empty battery packages, furniture still askew from being moved to allow the "hunters" to plug in their instruments. The family is exhausted, and you will do what you can to help them "straighten up" as they sleep.

As the house grows quiet again, you know that, one day, new "hunters" will come. But they will be polite - to your family and to you. They will tell you their names, and they will explain to you what their gadgets do. They will ask you questions, always accompanied by a "please". And they will thank you for a knock. They will spend time with your "family", and share their knowledge and experiences. And when your "family" tells them that they feel safe with you here, these "hunters" will believe them. And because they are polite and caring, knowledgable and understanding, you will talk to them via their small voice recorders, and you will whisper into the ears of those that are particularly sensitive to your presence. And, if the atmosphere allows, you will walk in front of their video cameras and digital cameras. And you will stroke their hair and hope for their success. Because these "hunters" will not be seeking a "trophy" or fame. These "hunters" will be here because they want to know you and to understand you. These "hunters" respect you. And, for that, you will thank them.....

Copyright 2009 Donna Stewart/PSI of Oregon
All Rights Reserved