When I was in second grade, I had to put together an insect collection. My father was so frustrated with the fact that I was terrified of the bugs, that he got a particularly frightening one (which happened to be huge and had black and white spots all over it) on the end of a hoe and cornered me behind the front door.
“If you would just stop being so afraid, you could have cool bugs like this for your collection!” he yelled.
This did not help my fear.
Not one bit.
Generally, I hate bugs. In particular, I hate crickets and giant cockroaches. My son hates insects, too. Or rather, he likes the idea of them. The reality, not so much.
I was worried that maybe he had picked up on my fear. So in an attempt to show him that they can be fun, I have taken to playing with them, holding them, letting him pet them, naming them, and in some cases making “pets” of them.
I still hate bugs.
He is doing better with them, however.
We have a tarantula named Harry. We feed him crickets. It gives me the willies every time I have to reach into the bucket of live crickets and dig one out. It is crawling around in my HAND! Each time I flip the top of Harry’s house, I am terrified he is going to escape. They can really jump, you know…
Ah, the things we do for our children.