"Garrett," I said, "Did you really dream about a polar bear chasing us last night?"
"No. I mean, did you seriously have a dream about a polar bear?" I inquired.
Troy, confused by the inquisition, asked me why I was interrogating our first born. "Because I had a dream that a polar bear was chasing us."
I'd dreamed that we were living in Alaska. We had a house as well as a research building. The man I was married to was, apparently, working on some kind of bear documentary. I think it was supposed to be Troy but he was about twice as wide as Troy, half again as tall as Troy, and looked very much like Yukon Cornelius. Except, well, not made of a weird clay substance.
In the dream, there was a polar bear stalking my son and me. The child was, evidently, a combination of The Rock Star and The Little Buddy because he was about two--Matthew's age--but decided Caucasian--like Garrett. In the dream, I was desperately trying to protect the child from the bear but the bear was always one step ahead. I'd run into a room. The bear would be waiting. I'd run from the house to the research den. The bear would be waiting. I simply could not get away from the menacing presence of the giant animal.
I'm no dream analyzer but I think I have mine figured out. Still, how bizarre is it that my five-year-old son dreamed something very similar? Is this normal? Are we a family of freaks? Wait. Don't answer that.