Acute Stress Response, also known as Fight or Flight, is a very basic and primal instinct. It's that click in your brain that reminds you that you are vulnerable. It also decides for you whether or not you will face danger head on, or turn and run. Or, in my case, turn, squeal, and run. It's natural. There is nothing you can do about an initial instinct. It's what you decide to do once you've had time to process the threat that matters....or so I tell myself.
My first story starts back when Amanda was eight months pregnant with Jackson. I had this great game that amused me time and again. It was called "hold Amanda hostage." Don't be confused. I did her no harm. I didn't even have to touch her. I would simply wait until we got in to Wal-Mart, or the mall, and would start making jokes. That's the weird thing about Amanda. As classy and lady-like as she is, she has always cracked up at my trivial, third grade humor. I can get her every time with a few off color wise cracks. Now, any of you ladies out there that have had children can probably already tell where this is going. During pregnancy, the child can think of no better place to rest than on top of mommy's bladder. That added pressure can really make laughing in public a scene right out of "Mission Impossible." So, I tortured her. The harder she laughed, while unable to move, the harder I laughed. She promised me that I would be paid back in spades for this, and she would have the last laugh. Boy was she right.
When Jackson was born, I fell in love. I was amazed at every little thing he did. I was convinced that his gas giggles were actually a sign of his approval of me as a Dad. I wanted to make sure that I did not miss a thing. Not one milestone.
One Saturday, we needed to make a grocery run to Wal-Mart. No problem. Amanda would handle the shopping, and I would run interference with the kid. We got to the store, and I popped his infant carrier in to the cart. This was so much better than lugging the stroller around with the cart. Plus, it was rear facing so I could keep a close eye on him. We finished up shopping and Amanda bolted out in front of us to crank the car, to cool it down, and pop the trunk. She saw it coming. I did not.
As we head up the aisle toward our car a few loyal patrons were also exiting the parking lot. Now, I'm not afraid of dogs. I'm not really fond of them, but I'm not afraid of them. However, my flight response dictated otherwise. As two cars rolled past my cart, I'm focused in on Jackson, completely unaware of the 150 lb. rottweiler hanging out the passenger window of the second car. This dog must've have the IQ of a chia-pet, because he apparently identified a doting father and his infant son as a threat to his owner's 2000 lb. car. As the car passes, this maniac dog leaps toward my right ear, barely stopped by a half-rolled down window, and barks at me like I stole his lunch money.
I would like to tell you that I glanced to my right, scoffed at the animal, and kept walking. This was not the case. Before, I knew it. I screamed. Not, yelled in a manly fashion. No, I screamed like a 13 year old at a NKOTB concert. But that wasn't all. I also jumped about three feet high and two feet to the left. Not both legs at once, more like a sideways skip. I also cursed, LOUD! So loud in fact, that combined with the girl-like wailing I had managed to get the undivided attention of every person in the Wal-Mart parking lot. As the blood rush out of my head and returned to the rest of my organs, I realized that no one else seemed nearly as worried about my safety as I had been. Instead, they laughed. Not giggled, belly laughed. As I surveyed the symphony of laughter, I found that Amanda was apparently the conductor. She was down on both knees in the middle of the parking lot howling in laughter, shaking violently. No longer was she the victim. Justice had been served. I loaded the kid and the groceries as Amanda stood next to me with one hand over her mouth and the other pointing at me, still laughing away. To this day, I can't just jump in to the "Crazy parking lot dog" story without giving her a few seconds to get some giggles out of the way.
My second story puts Amanda in the cross hairs. Sometimes the fight or flight response reminds us that we are all, seemingly, in this thing alone. Sometimes it's just every man (woman) for himself. Amanda is petrified of snakes. I would take it so far as to say phobic. She knows that her feelings are sometimes irrational, but she's totally fine with that. I never really knew just how scared of snakes she was, until I took her to play golf with me when we were in college.
This was her first time on a golf course. Little did I know, but this was a big deal for her. She does not enjoy walking in grass, because she might not be able to spot a snake. She expresses a little concern about this, but I ensure her it will be fine. I've played golf a thousand times and only seen a snake once. So, we tee off on hole number one. I hit a beauty, right down to the edge of a pond, leaving me a nice wedge shot in to the green. In front of the green, just past the back side of the pond is a mound where the grass is a little high. Huge green, small mound. I hit my ball right into the mound. What luck. We park the cart about forty yards, up the hill, away from the mound. I grab my wedge and putter and head toward my ball. Amanda follows alongside. As I get to the mound, I can't see my ball in the tall grass. So, I begin stomping on the mound hoping to find the ball by stepping on it. Around the third stomp in, I felt my spikes dig in to something. Not only that, but I felt that something move slightly. Panic.
I gently lift the insole of my right foot and spot the scales. This wasn't just a snake, it was a water moccasin. For those of you not familiar with snakes, you know how there is always some idiot on the Animal Planet channel or at your local zoo that tells you how snakes are more afraid of you than you are of them? Well, they ain't talking about water moccasins. They're the devil. I freeze, slowly turn at the waist and tell Amanda to take a few steps back. She asks why. I inform her that I may have just stepped on a snake. Before I can say another word I hear the pitter patter of Amanda's feet SPRINTING up the hill. I didn't see it because she was behind me, but it sounded like something out of a cartoon. I was now focusing on her ridiculously fast running, rather than this monster under my foot. OK Jamey, back on task. As I lifted my foot, the snake's head flopped on top of my foot. He missed. I'm not sure if he was striking or just writhing in pain. I jumped back, armed with my putter, and awaited his charge. But, it was early March, a little cold, and he didn't have the energy to fight. He quickly scurried into the pond, a little worse for the wear. By the way, this was not a small snake. He was a little bit bigger around than a baseball and about 4-5 feet long.
As I returned to the cart that Amanda was trying to climb and my adrenaline slowed and I thought about her response. Her brain processed the equation of self-preservation vs. moral support so fast that I was in awe. Would I have done the same? If so, what kind of man was that? I would like to think that if it was her that stepped on the snake, I would have sprung in to action and saved my damsel. Maybe. But, that's the thing about fight or flight, you don't know till you're in it. The weird part is that it's not always one way or the other. Sometimes you fight. Maybe too often. Don't keep score. Just laugh about it when you can.
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