When I was little, I used to be afraid in my room. Every night, I would scream, and Papa would come in.

I thought it was a man, a kidnapper or something, hiding in the darkness. Papa laughed a little bit, and said, “Oh, that’s just the bogeyman. If you get scared of him, just lift your blanket over your head, like this.” He pulled it up over his face, laughing.

“Are you sure it’ll work?” I’d asked; a mere blanket keeping away kidnappers didn’t make sense.

“I’m positive.”

He still checked my closet, looked under my bed, and the other random places I asked him to. I never had to ask him after that night, though. Whenever I got scared, I just hid beneath my blanket and waited for the fear to go away.

I trusted my father’s words, and by hiding under the blanket, all the fears I had disappeared. If I didn’t have the blanket though, if I didn’t have anything to hide with, the same fears came back.

The blanket protected me against the bogeyman by making the bogeyman unseen.