This Little Piggy

Last night for no apparent reason I remember suddenly when I was really little, about four or five, and I first saw a cinderblock type brick. I was absolutely stunned, physically shocked by how it was hollow inside. Imagine a house, my house, being built out of these hollow clay things! It was not a very comforting thought by any means. For years every time the wind blew and shook I was convinced it was trying to keen its way into those scary little spaces. I knew with absolute conviction ghosts lived in them. And I remembered me, little, lying in bed in my old room in the Dayton house, covers pulled tight up under my chin and listening with infant dread to the sounds outside, waiting with a fiercely resigned dread for the house to topple all around us. I think for many years I was surprised to wake up in the morning and find it still standing. I wonder how I finally got over it?