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  • Writer's pictureA is for Agape

Small Visitors of the Creepy Crawly Kind


I waited for my son to burst into the house holding out his hand, some wiggly, creepy crawly laying there, proudly showing off his treasure.  I waited year after year.  I had heard the stories.  I steeled myself.  I checked short’s pockets for dirt and rocks.  I shook out his shoes, just to make sure there was nothing hidden inside their deep recesses.  Six years have passed, with not a snake, grub or spider in sight.

And then today, as I stood blow drying my hair, innocently unaware that my daughter had popped into my bathroom, I felt a tap on my leg.  I turned around to see a little outstretched hand, the tiniest, sweetest sight to any mother, and in it a roly-poly, wiggling with all it’s might.  And on my daughter’s face not just a smile but a beam.  Without a trace of guile, she stood there showing me her prize.  I hid my own surprise, though it had finally come after all these years, in the form on a little girl in pink.  And I will now be inspecting all her small pockets for visitors.

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