Sleepwalking. In Hollywood, that word usually signals a thriller, a horror, or a heavy drama. While many families may experience those high-stakes situations in real life, my family’s stories were different—the kind of experiences we can laugh about today.
My middle sister, “Jan,” was a repeat sleepwalker. It started when she was quite young. I would not classify it as chronic sleepwalking, but our parents learned about her sleepwalking early on when they would find her wandering through the house on various “missions” long after we were in bed.
Sometimes her mission was apparent, like when she felt she urgently needed to be somewhere. Other times, she would simply walk into the hallway and pause—just standing there—until Mom asked what she was doing. In true sleepwalker logic, she always had a “reason.” Sometimes it was mundane, like getting ready for school at 2:00 AM; other times it was more bizarre, like ensuring the dishes were washed.
Our dad was a dedicated electronics hobbyist. He built our television, the stereo system, and his Ham radio set. When we were in elementary school, his card table was set up in the master bedroom—the only available space for his hobby—overflowing with components in various stages of assembly. He took great care to protect his work from the cat, covering loose parts with a sheet so they wouldn’t be batted away as toys. He never imagined he’d also need to protect them from his children.
One night, my parents woke to find Jan sitting at the table, “working” on the electronics. Our parents weren’t the type to overreact; they calmly asked what she was doing. She replied, quite matter-of-factly, “Helping.” While we were occasionally allowed to help Dad during the day under his close supervision, they explained that 3:00 a.m. wasn’t the time for helping and walked her back to bed.
Sharing a bedroom gave me a front-row seat to the various scenes that would play out at night. I often woke to the sound of my parents whispering to Jan as they escorted her back to bed. Typically, I’d just roll over and go back to sleep, only to grill her the next morning—though she never remembered a thing. Over the years, I genuinely looked forward to hearing from our parents about Jan’s latest nighttime escapades.
Some nights were admittedly a bit scarier. In our early teens, Jan once managed to unlock the front door before Dad rushed to the living room to intercept her. After that, they installed a chain lock toward the top of the door. Mom later told me the chain saved the day when they were again awakened by another attempt Jan made to head outside, only to be thwarted by that brass chain.
Fast forward to college when I truly learned how vital that lock was. For one year, my sisters and I shared an apartment with an external-facing door on the second floor, featuring a wooden deck landing and an auto-locking handle.
One night, I was awakened by a continuous knocking. I hesitated—who knocks on a door shared by three college-aged women in the middle of the night? Then I noticed Jan’s bed was empty. By the time I reached the door, our other sister, “Joy,” was there. She was asking who was at the door and heard Jan’s voice. Joy opened the door, and we saw Jan standing there, in her nightgown, bare feet on the deck in the middle of winter, perfectly calm. She claimed she’d “forgotten her shoes,” and we all went back to bed.
The next morning, I asked Jan if she remembered her midnight lockout. She didn’t. When I told her the story, she laughed and said, “I wondered why my knuckles were sore!”
She did, however, recall one flash of memory that she assumed was a dream: looking down and seeing her bare feet on the cold, snowy wooden deck. That was what made her turn back, only to find the door locked.
Luckily, that was the last of the outdoor excursions, but Jan wasn’t the only one providing the family with nighttime entertainment. Come back for the sequel – Part 2 of the Adventures in Sleepwalking!
Jean's Movies 