“‘Tis a very grave situation.” That is what my Uncle John used to say every time he drove his kids past a cemetery. My cousin, Nancy, told me that they NEVER passed a cemetery without her father shaking his head, dropping his voice an octave, and proclaiming s-l-o-w-l-y.

“Tis a very grave situation … people are dying to get in there.” All these years later, she says, “It was quite a performance.”

I never realized what a ubiquitous expression it was until I got older. When we were dating, my late husband said exactly the same thing the first time that we drove past a cemetery, “People are dying to get in there.” I thought, “Does this guy really have this corny a sense of humor?” Turns out he did. Years later, I learned where it came from.

We were visiting Tom’s family in Rochester and on our way to a restaurant. As always, Tom’s father drove, with his mother in the front passenger seat. Tom and I sat in the back directly behind Pop’s cigar smoke in the closed car. Because Pop was a really dear man, I never complained. He truly seemed to have no other faults.

As we passed the cemetery, he pulled out of his mouth his smoking “seegar” – which the family had named “el cheapos.” He declared, “Watch out for this place. People are dying to get in there.” I was holding my breath from the el cheapo, and tried not to burst out laughing. Then I realized I was supposed to laugh. He was driving very slowly. I thought perhaps someone from the family was buried there and his 12 mile-an-hour speed was out of respect. As it turned out, it was a family game.

The signal was his saying, “People are dying to get in there.” At that point, the children in the car were expected to take in a huge gulp of air, and hold their breath during the boneyard drive-by. Once he heard the big gasping in-takes, he slowed down to a crawl, as low as traffic would allow. If it was a really big cemetery, and there were no cars in the rearview mirror, it could be respiratory torture to make it to the last stone wall. He took great joy in this harmless little game.

The first time my children took in the big gulp while riding with me, I was surprised.

They had learned from Grandpa. My mother didn’t do this, and I hadn’t known about the superstition

The widespread folk tale says that if you breathe while driving past a cemetery, the spirits will be jealous of your breath and come to haunt you – or take it from you. Holy zombies!

From talking to a few people about this, I think it was more of a guy thing — a prank more than an evil spirit uprising.

When I first encountered it, the game triggered a memory for me, of my cemetery fears when I was a girl. There was a relatively small graveyard a block down the street from our apartment. I had to pass it every morning on my walk to elementary school, or any trip to town.

There was a raised hill spread across the back of the graveyard. A half dozen small mausoleums, with what looked like cement doors were tucked into the front of the hill. It was an old cemetery, and some of the cement was cracked and chipped off, revealing brick beneath. I was positive, in my heart of hearts, that the dark red color was dried blood from the tortured souls within. The place terrified me. Nighttime walks home were the worst. It was years before I could accept that it was merely bad maintenance, not a repository for screaming victims.

Feeling that much fear is not entertaining to me. To this day, I am not a fan of horror movies. I saw one, “The Thing,” when I was about 10 years old. My one and only. The Thing was a luminescent alien who scared the bejeezuz out of me. I vowed, right then, to never go to another one. The movie starred James Arness as the monster, and I never really took to watching him on “Gunsmoke” either.

Today’s ghoulish blockbusters about zombies? Fuggedaboudit. I don’t spend good money to be that terrified. I’d have to sit there, eyes closed, listening to the creepy music and the screaming. I’d probably choke on my popcorn.

I prefer the peaceful dead to the undead. I recently checked — there are over 100 graveyards in my county, including family burial grounds. Today, I like all cemeteries – their history, some memories, all calm places to reflect … and think.

As Uncle John would say, “‘Tis a grave situation.” That’s a good thing.

Marcy O’Brien can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com