Normie and the Whale

When I was a very little boy my Mum and my Dad would read me stories from a collection of picture books surprisingly vast for such a poor family. Amongst my very favourite books was a Bible story picture book full of all kinds of neat stories about various miraculous events. I loved every page. Except for two.

Roughly a third of the way into the book was the story of Jonah and the Whale. Back then I knew exactly where the story was, because it terrified me so much.

Spread across two large pages was a scene of sheer, cold horror– against a backdrop of ominous black clouds and towering, oily green waves, was a tiny ship ripped asunder by the winds. Taking up the lower left quadrant was a gargantuan slippery black leviathan, his enormous red jaws agape in anticipation of swallowing the incoming prophet who had just been hurled off the ship. The expression on Jonah’s face was enough to trigger nightmares in a Mafia hitman, let alone a four-year-old. A more sinister panorama has never been offered to the eyes of any little boy.

So you will completely understand that when my Mum finished the preceding happy story and was about to turn the page, I would quickly reach out and turn two at once. Jonah and the Whale were not to be part of my “settling down for sleep” routine. I mean, can you blame me?

I’ve never completely given up the habit of turning two pages at once, and I suspect you haven’t, either. To this day, there are ugly things in life that are easier to deal with if you just turn two or three pages at a time. Just skip past them. Yes, even as grown-ups we do these things.

Lots of times it’s quite alright to skip a few pages. In fact, sometimes it’s the right thing to do. Occasionally, if I’m invited to watch a movie loaded from end to end with gratuitous gore and not much else, I’ll pass, because I don’t like what that kind of stuff does to my soul. And I think that’s the right thing to do, at least for me.

But far too often I skip a few pages because I’m chicken — I just don’t want to face up to what I should deal with. It may be awkward, or costly, or perhaps I’ll have to admit things about myself I’d rather not admit. Maybe it will test a relationship I’d rather not have tested. Whatever, it’s just easier and more convenient to turn a couple of pages all at once.

I don’t know about you, but those are the times I need to remind myself I’m not four years old any more.