Kindertrauma and Daleks

I can't believe I haven't adored Kindertrauma on this blog yet!!! I was much too chicken as a youth/teen/adult/rightnowtoday to enjoy horror movies, but I've spent most of my life being close chums with many, many horror aficionados. Kindertrauma lets me get about as close to horror films as my jittery little composition can safely experience. This is very nice, because I'm still fascinated by the genre in an abstract way even though I can't usually watch it.

(I've mentioned my synesthesia before--there's just something about classic, gooey horror effects that sets off some weird synesthetic thing for me that is kind of like nails-on-chalkboard-on-my-skin that disarms whatever detached cynicism I might otherwise be able to muster. I cannot handle that semi-tactile texture. I get all "fear of heights" weird, and it is extremely embarrassing. But I've digressed.)

The general idea behind Kindertrauma is that people confess whatever film clips terrified them as children, and then there's a bit of cathartic laughter and usually some supportive banter between guest writers, regular writers and commenters. Fantastic, right? Yes. The answer is "Yes, yes that is fantastic." I thought so.

Now, some of the television traumas explored on this site happen outside of the horror genre. This is often my favorite part. For example, one reader wrote in to this horror website to confess a childhood fear of the Muppet lab assistant Beaker.

But the article that took the cake for me this lovely evening was a piece by one of their regular writers on being completely terrified of the classic, recurring Doctor Who villain the Daleks.

I have only become a ranting, raving Doctor Who fan quite recently, which is silly on my part because I feel like that show "gets" me.

But anyway. I can totally see how a kid growing up with the show would be boogyman-afraid of Daleks. As an adult pushing 30, I still jump when they pop up unexpectedly, because they are, for the most part, fascist creepy garbage cans full of weapons, intelligence and hate.

Oh, good times, folks. Good times.