Things That Scare Middle-Aged Black Men, Ranked

I’m not gonna lie. Halloween is not one of my favorite times of the year.

Not because I’m some kind of curmudgeon who hates to see kids in costumes going door to door shaking people down for candy. Or because I feel like it’s an excuse for adults to dress inappropriately and let their freak flag fly using fall foliage as cover. And, I’m definitely not one to get all sanctified on y’all and try to say that Halloween is “demonic” or anything like that.

And before you assume that I’m some kind of chump or scaredy-cat who doesn’t like all the ghosts and zombies and skeletons and whatnot, I’ll admit that I’m probably not the biggest fan of all the spooky stuff. But, I’m also a grown ass man, so I recognize that that’s not real and I handle it accordingly.

No, my problem with the haunted houses and contrived scares of Halloween is that those aren’t things I’m actually afraid of. Startling? Yes. But, truly scary? Not really.

We’ve been rocking together on these columns for a while now, so you know that I come from a certain era, place, and space that’s shaped my perspective in macro, which means that my worldview manifests itself in unique ways in micro. All that to say, I’m a middle-aged Black man in America; spiders don’t scare me as much as roaches. Jason Voorhees or Freddy Krueger don’t necessarily grab my attention, but my debit card not working the first time is deeply concerning.

For me and others of my generation and ilk, the concept of fear just rings different. Jordan Poole has kinda figured it out with his films, but even his plots can be gratuitous. I don’t need an abstract portrayal of race in America using the horror movie milieu as a vehicle to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I just need a vague email from HR setting up a meeting on a Friday morning.   

That being said, I’ve decided to compile a list of the things that are truly frightening for me and guys like me. For those of us who have overcome so much to get to this point in life, and portray a certain level of strength and control every day. This is for us.

Here are things that scare middle-aged Black men, ranked…

10. Cooked-All-Black Air Force Ones

The all-black Air Force 1 is the official shoe of poor behavior.

What the all-white Ones are to a good time, the all-blacks are to a bad one. Nobody knows how this delineation was made or when. But, somehow through hood evolution and street-Darwinism, we’ve all been conditioned to understand that the all-black Uptown is a signal of potential danger… and said danger increases based on the condition of the shoe.

You see a dude in a crispy new pair of all-black Ones, maybe he works somewhere that requires black footwear, and he wants to be comfortable. Maybe. But if you see a man in a pair that’s been tried, fried, and laid to the side? You stay clear of him. He got papers on him. This is a person who, while not necessarily excelling in violence, clearly does not avoid it.

Putting on a cooked pair of all-black Air Force 1s is, effectively, brandishing a weapon. 

I don’t need to go any further.

9. People You Don’t Know That Well Offering You Hennessy

Like, first of all, bro, who are you, and, secondly, how do we know what happens next here?

See, it’s the intent behind the Hennessy. Because when a semi-stranger or a non-immediate homey hands you a red cup of that dark liquor at a function, you have to make 14 micro-decisions in half a second:

• Who poured this?
• What made them give this to me?
• Is this a bonding moment or a setup?
• Can they fight?

There’s always that one dude who insists, “Come on, G, it’s just a sip witcha boys!” and that’s exactly what makes it terrifying. Because, at this age, no story that starts with Hennessy ends reasonably. You’re gonna lose something; friendship, relationship, car keys, the ability to vote, you name it. It’s all of the mysteries that come with the Henny that make it so scary. 

Hard nope. 

8. Not Knowing Who Made the Potato Salad

Listen, ladies. It’s too many of y’all deputizing yourselves as aunties these days. And you done made the leap from bringing ice to the cookout to trying to show up with potato salad without the proper training and vetting first.

If you haven’t had your deviled eggs cleared by the committee first or have a reference from an elder, please don’t try to go straight to the pros.

Lack of trust is a gateway to fear and so it’s a natural reaction.

7. Being Asked About Megan Thee Stallion

Because there are so many opinions that one can have about her, and most of them will be considered unacceptable in the wrong company.

Sir, ma’am — that is entrapment.

There’s hardly a safe answer. You say too much, you sound like a creepy old man. You say too little, you sound like a dismissive Unc stuck in the past. You mention Tory Lanez or Drake, now you’re in a full political debate. You compliment her intelligence, and someone side-eyes you for how you said “intelligence.” She’s a litmus test on your cultural competence, and the odds are likely that you’re going to fail.

So you pivot. “She’s very… talented,” and then you ask who made the potato salad.

6. What to Do When a Diddy Record Comes On

This is one of the great moral conundrums of our time

We’re in our 40s, the DJ drops “All About the Benjamins“ and your muscle memory takes over. You want to bop, but your conscience taps you on the shoulder like, “Nah, homeboy.” But you also haven’t spent the last decade learning all the new joints either, so you’re stuck.

You pause. You look around. You remember the headlines, recognize the need to publicly eschew that kind of behavior. But, you still wonder if it’s okay to two-step to “Big Poppa” or if waving your hands in the air as a true player is a form of complicity now.

It’s exhausting. We grew up with these records, and now they’re haunted like that Brady Bunch necklace. For the foreseeable future, every time you hear a Bad Boy song, you have to decide if you’re gonna dance or atone.

5. Grilling Meat Without a Thermometer

Once you hit 40, as a man, you are required to step into the arena and buy a grill.

It’s a sacred responsibility. For at least one major outdoor holiday per year, you’re going to be expected to click some tongs and make it happen. But, unlike our ancestors, we don’t rely on abstract units of measure like beers drank or Newports smoked to get a sense of the doneness of the meat. Nah, we shop at Whole Foods. This chicken is organic. We can’t leave this to chance. We have technology.

Grilling meat with a thermometer makes you feel invincible. That bird’s gonna come out tender and juicy at 165 degrees e’rdy dern time. But, when the battery dies, you’re at your sister-in-law’s house, or you’re just out in the wild, and you gotta eyeball it? Sheer terror.

God forbid you dry out the meat, and you don’t want to risk giving the fam salmonella, so you white-knuckle it and pray that this all works out. Grilling without a thermometer is like base jumping for middle-aged Black men.

4. The Wrong People Hearing Your Real Voice

Because once them people hear how you talk to those people, there’s no going back.

The boogeyman is out, and it’s you. 

3. Not Being Able to Find Parking

There’s a special kind of terror that comes from circling the block for the fifth time with the radio turned down, while you’re low on patience and gas.

Middle-aged Black men fear this deeply because parking is one of the few remaining areas where we can feel utterly powerless. And, most of the time, when you’re looking for said parking, you’re probably going somewhere you already don’t want to be.

Maybe it’s brunch with people you only sorta like, or a gallery showing you’ve gotta pretend to understand. Maybe it’s the cheerleading competition you drove an hour to get to, or the new spot that just opened that doesn’t have valet. Whatever it is, time is ticking, parking is sparse, and your nerves are getting increasingly bad.

Now, you’re trying to contain the beast. Part of it is the rage of not being at home, the other part is not being completely at your destination. All of it focused on the guy in the Le Sabre that coulda pulled up just a little bit more to fit you in. The fear here is the sudden release of anger and being “that guy.” But, at least here we can acknowledge it.

2. Water Where Water Isn’t Supposed to Be

There’s no faster way to create a full existential crisis than discovering unexpected moisture.

A drip from the ceiling. A puddle near the washing machine. A mysterious damp spot on the carpet. Suddenly, you’re somewhere between HGTV and a horror movie.

Water in the wrong place means money, time, and extra decision-making. Because every drop represents a problem you either have to fix, pay someone to fix, or figure out how to get it so that it doesn’t get worse… which, of course, it will.

You immediately start troubleshooting like you’re an expert plumber. “It’s probably condensation.” You know it’s not condensation. It’s despair. Liquid despair.

1. Quiet… But Like, Too Quiet

Every Black man wants to know the sound of peace. But silence? That’s suspicious.

When the house is too quiet, it’s not relaxing; it’s threatening. It means one of two things: something broke, or someone did something and they’re hiding to formulate a cover story.

If you’re a parent, that silence hits different. You’ll be sitting on the sofa, flirting with a nap, and suddenly realize you haven’t heard from your kids in 17 minutes. You get up like Morgan Freeman in Seven, walking down the hall, calling out softly: “Hey… whu-whu-what y’all doing in there?”

And then, either someone starts crying, someone starts apologizing, or both.

That’s when the real fear hits.

Because nothing in adulthood, not bills, not job stress, not even whatever’s happening at the White House today, compares to the dread of discovering why it’s quiet.

Honorable Mentions

• Loose macaroni and cheese
• Knee sounds.
• Hitting the wrong window to share on Teams
• Texts from unsaved numbers
• The mail

Here’s the thing: all these little fears add up to something bigger.

We aren’t scared of ghosts. We’re scared of losing control over our bodies, our reputations, our peace. The older you get, the less room you feel like there is for mistakes. The margin of error blurs. You start to understand why your daddy always looked so serious and tired in the pictures.

While a holiday like Halloween seeks to add a little scare to our lives, let’s face it. We’re already swimming in some kind of anxiety or another that we’ve acquired over time.

So this Halloween, while the rest of the world worries about vampires and clowns, we’ll be over here, trying to ignore Diddy records, side-eyeing the potato salad, and praying the ceiling doesn’t drip.

Corey Richardson is originally from Newport News, Va., and currently lives in Chicago, Ill. Ad guy by trade, Dad guy in life, and grilled meat enthusiast, Corey spends his time crafting words, cheering on beleaguered Washington DC sports franchises, and yelling obscenities at himself on golf courses. As the founder of The Instigation Department, you can follow him on Substack to keep up with his work.

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