"What stories have you been told about yourself as a baby?"
Chapter 1:
It's a short story, frequently told
by my mother to explain one of my fears. It occurred when we lived in
Savanna, Oklahoma. Mom set me on the floor while she put away the
groceries. Suddenly, she heard blood curdling screams.
She rushed to pick me up and figure out what was wrong. Clutched in my
chubby fingers was a stinging scorpion! So
my continued fear of spiders originated with this encounter with a
stinging scorpion.
Chapter 2:
One of my most vivid spider memories occurred in a
motel somewhere between McAlester, Oklahoma and Houston, Texas. After a
family reunion in Oklahoma, my niece, Susan accompanied me on my return
trip to Houston where we lived. Lance joined us for part of the reunion,
but didn't stay the entire time due to work obligations. Susan was in
college at the time, Sara was a baby, and Blake was almost three. And
why on earth did we need a motel room for a drive that only takes eight
hours? Well, Blake was sick with a stomach virus. (While it's tough
having a child with stomach distress away from home, I can report that
setting soiled linens outside the door and receiving clean linens in
return is much easier than dealing with the soiled linens yourself. But I
digress.)
Upon
arrival in our motel room, I discovered a gigantic spider (the size of
my hand!) in the bathtub. Did I grab the nearest shoe and smash it to
smithereens? No, that duty fell to my niece Susan. I stood nearby and
offered encouragement, but Susan was the heroine of the hour.
Chapter 3:
Fast
forward to the summer of 2021. Hannah's planned wedding had
been postponed once already due to the pandemic and we were determined
that she would have a bridal shower. We planned carefully, Mother Nature
cooperated, and we had an outdoor brunch. Our youngest attendee was
Oliver. He spent most of the shower snuggled next to his mom in a
front pack, but when all efforts to comfort him failed, Sara spread a
blanket on the floor to see if he could settle himself and fall asleep.
Why hadn't we thought to bring a pack and play? While setting up for the shower, I spotted a huge spider just outside the library door of our church where we were hosting the shower. I stood by with words of encouragement while Laurie took care of the hairy intruder.
Sixty-five years after
my own stinging scorpion encounter, I was terrified that a spider would
find sweet Ollie. I hovered, keeping careful watch. If a spider
had appeared, it's a sure thing that I would have insisted that someone
else be the smashing aggressor while I stood nearby offering words of
encouragement.
And that brings me to
a final observation. How on earth did I (a bona fide spider hater who
believes that the only good spider is a dead spider!) raise a daughter
who captures spiders in cups and and carries them outside to release
them back into their natural habitat?
This is my eleventh year of participating in the March Slice of Life Story Challenge. This year I'll be mining my memories for stories to share.
Updates:
First story: My sister informs me that my scorpion encounter as an infant was in Tulsa, OK, not Savanna. We had returned from a trip to McNally Flat to visit the grandparents and it was my dad who set me on the floor while he unloaded the car.
Second story: I texted my niece a link to this slice, asking if she remembered
the night in question. Here's her response, sent to me by text.
(Chapter 2 from my niece's point of view!)
"Oh,
do I ever!! I don't remember being the heroine of the hour. I don't
remember having a choice haha! I do remember smacking that spider with a
shoe and then it just disappeared!! Apparently the force of the smack
flipped it up onto the floor mat that was hanging over the edge of the
tub. But, it was dead! I still hate spiders and worry they are going to
pounce when i take my eyes off of them. But, I would rather smash it and
see its dead body than wonder where it may have crept to otherwise."
My response: "Written like a fellow spider detester!"
Her response: "Haha! Do you remember not seeing it after we (I!!) smacked it?"
My response: "I don't. Selective memory, so I can continue functioning in a world full of spiders!"
Her
response: "And I remember you saying, 'But, Susan, you have to kill it
before Blake sees it! If he sees it, he'll never come in the bathroom to
throw up.'"
