we were sitting at my parents' table over steaming bowls of mom's Penne Vodka when my dad began to tell a story about this guy that he works with: a 50-something year old biker. i'll spare you the long story (just this once) and tell you that this guy used to be part of a motorcycle club/gang that would drive around Brooklyn at all hours of the night back in the late 70's 
(when i was a wee baby of 2). according to my mom, every time i heard the sound of the tricked out motorcycles roaring down 84th street, i'd start screaming, crying and vomiting all over my crib and wouldn't calm down till they'd gone. apparently, this was the root of my fear/anxiety of loud noises: fireworks, motorcycles and Pillsbury dough in a can. now if only i can figure out where my fear of clowns, bugs, and bridges come from...
"Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil."~Aristotle
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