When kids are young, there’s a game they like to play. “Mom, I have a gift for you.” The child runs up, giddy with joy with either a flower, maybe a rock, something adorable in their hands.
I did it. I gave my mom a flower, a rock, sometimes a frog. I absolutely never tried to give her a mouse or a spider or some other creature that would have ended my life.
I valued the safety and security of a warm house, soft bed, food, clothing, the basics.
My son will have none of these things.
It’s a Friday night. The end of the week. There is a peace in that moment when you can sleep in, relax, unwind.
My son did not understand the goal of Friday night.
As I stood in the driveway, enjoying the peace and quiet and calm of a perfect evening, visiting with my husband and neighbor, my son opens the door to our shop.
“Mom, I have a present for you!”
He walks quickly out of the building, holding a pliers at arm’s length. Something out of a nightmare dangles from the end of the plier’s teeth.
Oh God.
It’s black. It’s big. It’s got eight legs.
“Oh that’s a big one,” my neighbor chuckles.
I look at my neighbor and ask, “How do you judge the size of a spider?”
He gave me a serious, deadpan stare. “If you can see its eyes,” he said.
My son raised the pliers a little. “I can see its eyes, mom.”
I back away toward the door to the house. “You come any closer with that thing son, and I will kick you out of the house.”
He crosses the lawn. “Mom, it’s a gift. He was just crawling around the floor, and I picked him up for you. Isn’t he cute?”
He drops it on the driveway, and the monster pauses and flexes its legs.
And that is how my son found his entire life on the driveway.
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