SNAKE!

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When I was very young, we had a snake in the house. Living in the country, this was not unusual. This time in particular, however, stands out as one of my all time favorite memories. Two key points to this story are that my mother is usually very calm and collected in these sorts of events, and my father believes that all snakes are a mile long, a foot thick, and deadly poisonous.
My mother had stayed up late one fall evening, as was her habit. I’m not sure if she was paying bills, reading a sappy romance novel, doing her fingernails, or most likely all three. Regardless, she was at the dining room table. My father and I had already turned in when we were both shaken out of our rooms by the oddest sound. My mother had barely whispered the word snake as the twelve inch beastie slithered across her bare foot. That whisper might just as well have been a blood curdling scream for the effect it had on the two of us. We ran into the room to discover my mother curled up in her chair shocked with fear. My father, who was luckily still wearing his drawers sprang into action as any Prince Valiant would. Grabbing up the weapons at hand, Lancelot swooped in with a wooden spoon and a paper grocery bag. He bravely “encouraged” the baby rattler into the paper sack and deposited it outside.
The three things I learned from this are:
1 Since my dad didn’t destroy the hated snake, he must place a pretty high value on all life.
2 There is nothing my father won’t do for my mother.
and 3 It is impossible to look brave standing in your underwear armed only with a wooden spoon and a paper sack.

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SNAKE!

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