Not Afraid of the Dark

My boys,

One of you used to be afraid of the dark.

Not a little afraid.

The kind where I would turn off the bedroom light, make it three steps down the hallway, and hear,

"Baba?"

I would turn around.

"What?"

"I need you."

"For what?"

A pause.

"The dark."

So I would come back.

One night, I sat on the edge of your bed.

The room was almost completely black except for a thin line of hallway light beneath the door.

You were buried under the blanket with only your eyes showing.

"What are you afraid of?"

"I don't know."

That was an honest answer.

"Did something come into the room?"

"No."

"Did something change when I turned the light off?"

You looked around.

"I can't see."

"That's different."

"How?"

"The room didn't change. You just can't see all of it right now."

You did not look convinced.

So I stood up.

"Come on."

"Where?"

"Across the room."

"I'm not going over there."

"I am."

I held out my hand.

You grabbed it.

We walked slowly.

Three steps.

Four.

Your little hand squeezing mine harder than necessary.

I touched the dresser.

"Still here."

We found the chair.

"Still here."

Your shoes.

"Still here."

The pile of clothes I had asked you to put away.

You laughed.

"Still here."

"Unfortunately."

We walked to the window.

Outside was darker than the bedroom.

Bare branches moved gently against the night sky.

I could feel you tighten your grip again.

"Baba?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we turn the light on now?"

"Of course."

I did.

Everything returned at once.

Bed.

Chair.

Dresser.

Shoes.

The clothes you still had not put away.

Exactly where they had been.

I tucked you back in.

Before I left, I told you,

"Being brave doesn't mean you have to like the dark."

"What does it mean?"

"It means you can walk through it even when you can't see everything."

You thought for a second.

"Because you're holding my hand?"

"Yeah."

Then you said,

"What if you're not here?"

That one stopped me.

I sat back down.

"Then you remember that God is."

You were quiet.

"Even when it's dark?"

"Especially when it's dark."

I kissed the top of your head.

That night, I left the door open a little.

You were still afraid.

That mattered.

Because courage did not arrive as some magical moment when fear disappeared.

You just learned that fear and safety could exist in the same room.

I think grown men forget this.

Our darkness changes.

It stops being the bedroom.

It becomes the diagnosis we are waiting to hear.

The business that may not survive.

The marriage we do not know how to repair.

The money that is running out.

The person we may lose.

The future of our children.

The prayer that has not been answered.

The road beyond the part we can see.

And sometimes someone asks us what we are afraid of.

We say,

"I don't know."

Still an honest answer.

My boys, there will be nights in your lives when you cannot see what comes next.

Do not invent monsters just because the room is dark.

Feel for what you know.

Your principles.

Your people.

Your responsibilities.

Your faith.

Take the next step you can actually take.

Then another.

You may still be afraid.

Walk anyway.

And when you become fathers, there may be a small voice calling you back down the hallway.

Go back.

Sit on the bed.

Walk the dark room with him.

Leave the door cracked if he needs it.

Do not shame a boy for being afraid.

Teach him what to do while he is.

Because one day the hand holding yours will let go.

And the little boy will become a man standing in a darkness you cannot enter with him.

I hope by then he remembers:

The room did not necessarily change.

He simply cannot see all of it yet.

And he is not walking through it alone.

I love you.

— Baba

Question:

When you cannot see what comes next, do you let fear tell you what is in the darkness, or do you keep walking by what you know is true?

Moral:

Courage is not becoming comfortable with darkness. It is learning to move faithfully when you cannot see everything ahead, trusting that God remains present beyond the reach of your sight.

This story reflects real experiences and philosophies behind Backyard Brew. It is shared to preserve perspective, fatherhood, faith, courage, and intention.

Author: R. Solace