Children have imagination.
I know. I was once a child.
When I was four, had a room in the basement, by myself, because I was a "big girl".
It probably wouldn't have been a big deal, except my dad built my room in the same room that had the "fruit room" (a room under the porch of the house where you store canned goods and other items that need to be of cooler temperature).
My imagination night after night had me frightened of the "monster in the fruit room". I never saw him. I just knew he was there. I even knew of him in the daylight, when my mom would send me down to get a jar of her canned tomatoes. I'd memorize where everything was in that room, so when I was sent, I didn't have to willy-nilly with the light, I'd just run in, close my eyes, grab the jar and be on my way.
Night after night, my dad would read me the story and I'd beg him to check the fruit room. He never found anyone or anything in there, but I wore him down, and my parents moved me upstairs.
Then when I was seven, we moved.
This house had a fruit room, which I was certain also had a monster, but I was two stories above it and had siblings who could also fetch canned jars of goods. This house, my concern was the monsters on the other side of the garage.
Every night at sunset, my parents would ask me to close the garage door. It was a manual garage door, where I had to pull on the manilla rope that was as big around as my leg. At seven, it took everything I had to tug that door into motion.
I'd peer down the street and on the horizon, I'd see them, the mayhem of monsters thundering down the street. Their feet were large and small. Some were covered in scales, others fur.
My heart would race and my hands would shake as I'd jump up to get momentum as I grabbed on to the bristling rope. There were nights I closed that garage door just as the monsters toes came into my sight under the falling garage door.
Then, we got this....
The monsters did not stand a chance. I just had to open the door to the garage, press the button on the doorbell looking gizmo and go back in the house. The automatic garage door was my hero!
Then I grew up, moved 3,000 miles away from the street where the monsters stomped and started my own little family.
When my first-born was two, we did our bedtime ritual, and then, one night, he climbed up on his toy box and as we stared out into the midnight blue sky, looking at the stars twinkling, my son pressed his nose against the window and in a whisper asked, "Do you see them coming, Mama?"
"What is coming, Son?"
"The monsters. See them?" He answered.
And that's when the manilla rope to my childhood garage door, became the thin, lift cord to the blinds. I yanked and tugged until the blinds cascaded down, blocking our view of the night, and monsters.
It's because of the monsters on the other side of the garage that I came to know my child is just like me!