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Carol Perkins: Worry Wart

When Guy Perkins married our author, nee' Carol Sullivan, he had so idea he'd married 'a worried wart,' she says.
The next earlier Carol Perkins story is What Page?

By Carol Perkins

Worry Wart


"Why don't you go on to bed," Guy would say as the clock ticked toward time for one of the kids to be home.

"You sitting up waiting isn't going to make any difference in whether or not they get home."

How he was able to crawl into bed, pull up the covers, and fall fast asleep when one of our teenage children was out was puzzling.

Someone had to be the designated worrier, so I appointed myself.




Even as a child, I was a worrier.

If it was a genetic trait, I never identified the source, because neither of my parents was a chronic worrier.

My mother claimed that there was a third cousin on her side of the family who wrung her hands when it rained, claiming the world was ending, but other than her, my mother could think of no one. She recalled seeing the fire from my grandfather Reece's pipe through the window when she and her brothers got home at night, meaning he was waiting, but he was not a floorwalker.

Going back to childhood, I worried when my dad went off on a service call that he would be in a wreck.

If he were later than I thought returning home, I walked the floor of my bedroom, taking time to look out the window in the direction of where he went, hoping to see his van in the distance.

When that van rolled into the shop, relief swept over me like warm water over a chill.

When my mother took classes at Western Kentucky University, I watched the clock to estimate her time of arrival and her time of departure. I could relax when I thought she had reached campus, and have a few hours to be free from the anxiety of her return.

Even after I left home to go to college, I didn't leave my worries behind.

My brother was driving by then, and I constantly struggled with the fear that he would have a wreck and I would get a phone call.

I couldn't manage to shake those intrusive thoughts.

Guy had no idea he married a worried wart.

That was probably lucky for me.

He learned quickly that if he accidently pushed my panic button by showing signs of worry himself, I would crumble.

My anxieties centered mainly on the safety of the ones I loved.

Guy claims that if left to me, Jon would have never played football, driven a car, had a tree house, or owned a go-cart.

I wouldn't take it that far.

Jon's first vehicle was a Ford truck with a bad muffler.

I could hear him when he headed down Oris Lane, so I would jump into the bed as if I had not been waiting for him. No teenage boy wants his mother walking the floor and looking out the window.

No sound was as sweet as that muffler.

Carla was the first to leave home for college.

My fears for her safety did not end when she left.

I worried with each trip she made to Lexington. Once there, she had to park a distance from her dorm, so I worried about her walking in the dark.

Within a short period of her graduation, she moved to Nashville where she knew no one.

You can only imagine my state of mind.

Was she safe in the parking lot of her building?

Did her doors have deadbolts?

When she went to Target, would she be abducted?

I had watched enough Nashville news over the years to know it was not a safe place.

It never occurred to me that she had thought of all this herself and took precaution.

My job was to make sure they were both safe at all times so I thought.

Once both children married, I turned the worrying over to their spouses; however, a new kind of worry began when the grandchildren arrived.

It is probably a good thing for them that I don't live nearby.

I reveal this about myself for only one reason: to send a message to those young people whose lives are tormented with unnecessary worry that they need to find a way to vent this worry into a positive channel.

I wasted so much time worrying over what might happen that I wasn't living.

The "what if's" can handcuff you and make you a prisoner in this life.

I have finally relaxed a little.

I no longer "borrow" trouble. I guess I have learned that none of us are immune to it and it will come, but wasting time waiting for it is just that a waste of time.

So many young people are filled with worries that they can't shake.

Maybe someone will reach out to them.

It's a painful existence.
About the author: Carol (Sullivan) Perkins is a lifelong resident of Edmonton, KY, in Metcalfe County where she taught high school English at Metcalfe County High School until her recent retirement. She is a now a freelance writer. is married to Guy Perkins and they have two children: Carla Green (Mark) of Brentwood, TN and Jon Perkins (Beth) of Austin, TX and six grandchildren. Her latest book, Let's Talk About, is a collection of over 70 of her works, and she is presently working on the second book in this series. Carol's ties to Adair County go back to Breeding where her grandfather, Rufus Reece, and her grandmother Bettie Strange, began their married life and later moved to Metcalfe County. You may contact Carol at cperkins@scrtc.com or write at P.O. Box 134 Edmonton. If you would like a copy of her book, you can order through email. Watch for her next story next Sunday.

IF YOU'VE ENJOYED READING CAROL PERKINS' STORIES on ColumbiaMagazine.com, you'll love her book, "Let's Talk About It. . . ." The books are $15 plus $4 for shipping. Send check or cash or money order to Carol Perkins, P.O. Box 134, Edmonton, KY 42129 They can be bought at the Herald Office in Edmonton, KY, or Terri's Fine Jewelry in Glasgow, KY.


This story was posted on 2009-09-20 10:53:39
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