I don’t squash bugs. Or swat flies. Or run over worms. It’s not that I’m squeamish. Insects don’t bother me (except for spiders). And it’s not because I believe in Reincarnation. I don’t. I’m certain I won’t come back to life as a hideous-looking Eyed Click Beetle; punishment for all the fines from over-due library books accumulated and never paid over my lifetime as “Kelly, The Homeschool Mom.”
The reason I don’t squash bugs is because I don’t want to hurt their little bug feelings. Or injure their little bug legs. Or cause their little bug mommies to weep because their little baby bugs were killed by a rogue Miu Miu heel. I have a strange and often inappropriate sense of empathy for all living creatures.
So when Little Squirt asked me if I would take him fishing, I cringed. And I hesitated. But I finely relented when he batted his huge brown eyes at me, and I walked him over to the pond by our house. But I dreaded the event: I’d watch harmless little fish get impaled, then lie injured and in agony on the dock, waiting to suffocate to death; their little hearts beating fast as their lives flashed before them. I figured I’d need to schedule a session with my therapist after this fishing expedition.
I needn’t have worried. “Fishing” simply involved Little Squirt and some “I Love Lucy”-type antics. My Little Angler stuck a piece of cheese on the hook, and when the cheese fell off, he ate it. Then he cast the cheese-less rod (after nearly impaling my left eye) into the water. After 20 seconds, he declared that area of the pond “no good” and moved over 3 feet. He held his fishing pole in one hand, and an apple in the other and chomped on it loudly. When the apple fell into the water, he spent 4 minutes trying to recover it with his fishing pole. Getting bored with that endeavor, he grabbed his crab net and dunked it into the pond, and expressed frustration when no fish immediately jumped into the net. Throwing his net on the ground, he moved down the dock to “make nice” with some fisherman, then oohed and aahed over a snapping turtle on the way back. Finally, Little Squirt announced he was tired from all the fishing, and wanted to go home and eat ice cream. The entire outing took about 17 minutes.
So we had chocolate sundaes, and I secretly celebrated that no living creatures lost their lives during the amusing venture.
4 comments:
Ha - good blog! Of course you can teach him to catch and release, you know. But, some worms will be food for the fishes (-D
Boy I hate to say this ,but. Fishing is a thrilling thing for kids to do. not to be left to die but can be returned to the water or eaten. some things were meant to be food. and as you know many men in the bible were fisherman.
Yeah well...Super Hubs can bond with him this way next time!!
Oh yeah, well Charlene was always the best at putting the worms on the hook for her sisters and then her nieces and nephews. Now she has me and it's "yucky", LOL!
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