My mother, who is in town visiting this week, has a story she likes to tell about a salesman who tried to get her to buy a baby changing table that could be converted to a stroller. I was a baby at the time, so it wasn't out of the question that she would want such a thing, but she and my father had recently bought and restored an antique crib, stripping off the old finish, then sanding and repainting it. They were very proud of it, and insulted when the salesman warned them away from used furniture, citing germs and disease.

"Fear advertising," my mother sniffs, when telling the story. She is onto that angle, she wants you to know, and that day, she wanted the salesman to know. She looked over the stroller, falsely casual, musing, "Well, I just don't know... I mean, what if I'm strolling her down the street and it suddenly flips into a changing table?" She is very proud of that response. She showed him, for ragging on her refinishing job.

Her professed hatred of �fear advertising� is in apparent direct conflict with her interest in a religion that promises that unbelievers will fry eternally in a lake of fire, although she does not see the contradiction. It is also in conflict with her parenting style, which, when I look back on it, seems an endless string of dire warnings about �them,� �those people,� �they,� a web of nameless and powerful people working tirelessly to cause our downfall. Growing up, I�d never heard of urban legends, but when I eventually found a book on the subject, I recognized several of my mother�s �true� stories described therein. I asked her about it, and she denied telling me any of the stories. But she did, she did.

As kids, my brother and I were dragged to many evangelical spectacles�faith healings, concerts, book signings. We still laugh about ridiculous events like the skinny, angry man who�d gone up on stage at a healing service in an attempt to kick his tobacco habit. He threw a package of cigarettes onto the ground and jumped up and down on them, screaming, �Satan, Ah hate-choo!� over and over, as if his cigarettes were possessed. One spectacle my mother took us to was a performance by an alleged former Satanic cult leader named Mike. My mother had given us his book to read�a gory tale of the network of Satanists who control every aspect of our society, over which this nebbishy, bushy-haired guy had supposedly reigned supreme. They can be anyone, was the message of the book, even doctors! Or lawyers! I don�t know why our mother wanted to teach us that the world was run by a well-organized web of Satan-loving professionals, but Mike�s book was one of many that she insisted we read, wrapping them as birthday gifts, or putting them in our Christmas stockings. I did not believe that our little suburban town was a haven for Satanists, but Mike would have me believe that I was just na�ve.

Mike�s show, even to my juvenile eyes, was amateurish and self-serving. It was clear that he relished building himself up with gruesome stories about what a bad-ass he had previously been. Neatly enough, due to the secrecy of the group he�d led, there was no real way to prove his assertions. After he had our attention, his act veered away from Christian content, and morphed into a bizarre stand-up routine. I remember feeling that he was using us as a captive audience for his would-be comedy career. It was uncomfortable and unfunny, and featured, as I recall, a lot of jokes having to do with snot. Years later, I remembered name and looked him up online, only to find that he�d been debunked as a fraud. Not a huge surprise.

I�m thinking about this today because I had dinner with my mother and my aunt last night. My aunt had misplaced her credit card, and was searching through her purse. She thought she might have left it at the gas station, and she called Information. She hung up, unable to get the number, because many of the gas stations are listed under the owner�s name, rather than the corporation. �That�s part of their scheme,� my mother said, eyes wary, making �shell game� motions with her hands. �They trick you, and get your card. They confuse you.� Following her logic, one would have to assume that gas station owners intentionally instruct employees not to return credit cards to customers, knowing that once the customer leaves, he will be unable to call, because the station is not listed under the gas company name. They �trick� you.

My aunt and I laughed at her take on the situation, and asked her where she got the idea. �I got it from you,� my mother said, looking at me. �You�re street-smart.�

The situation brought up another story, this one from my aunt, having to do with a shopping trip she�d taken with my mom when they were young children. My mother, the older sister, was accompanying my aunt to the counter at the five and ten. My aunt had some penny candy, and a handful of coins, which she was carrying, as kids do, with her arm extended. My mother scolded her, �Don�t show them your money! If they see how much you have, that�s what they�ll charge you.� I think this shows a world view that is both paranoid and not gleaned from me, many decades later. It is wholly consistent with her personality.

I can�t quite reconcile my mother�s hatred of fear advertising with her passion for spreading fear. I�m sure there�s a control issue at work in there somewhere. I don�t know what to say when she starts in, because it makes me feel uneasy. Not that she might be right, but that she might really believe what she�s saying. Why would she want me to believe that the world is run by Satanists? Why would she want me to believe that someone could be hiding under my car with a knife, to cut my Achilles tendon and steal the car while I�m disabled? Neither of those scenarios fit into anything I�ve experienced in life, and to believe that I�ve simply been lucky to escape them seems delusional in the extreme.

With the years of hearing that �they� are conspiring to �get� me, I find it difficult to maintain a stable world view, and further difficult to see religion as anything but a scare tactic. Satan is a great confuser, the evangelists taught me. It's important to know the truth, to be on the right side, or you will suffer eternal torment. By all means, don't think about it too much: you'll get confused by all the lies Satan has put out there.

All that being said, it�s a little stressful, having my mother in town to visit.

Star of the day. . .Harriet M. Welsch