Don't Bug Me

Tonight, as I was preparing to put Vaughn to bed, he came running out of his room:

"Mommy! I need you to get rid of a bug!" He then quickly reassured me, "It's already dead. I just need you to get rid of it."

Now, Dave had warned me of my son developing an unusual aversion to bugs, dirt, hair in bathtubs, etc., but I had yet to see the bug phobia for myself until now.

As it happens, our resident bug exterminator (Dave) was to be absent from the domicile for a few more hours, and I harbor my own fear and loathing of bugs, alive and dead, so we had a dilemma on our hands.

Like a good parent, I decided to turn this into a character developing experience, which also saved me from touching the disgusting carcass, seizing an opportunity to pass on a valuable life lesson.

"Vaughn, you're a boy. I'm a girl. YOU get rid of it." See? I should write a book on parenting.

I could see from the look on his face this was not a convincing enough argument.

"Vaughn, there is going to come a day (like when you're 40) when you marry a girl (God willing), and she's going to want you to get rid of bugs for her. It's just the way it works." Now, the momentum of the principle was starting to lock me into my position. Far be it from me to reinforce gender stereotypes (given who I'm married to), but this is one that I would be willing to sign a petition on and vote into effect: Boys must kill and dispose of bugs for girls.

Once again, I could see his face settling into that all too familiar obstinacy.

"Look, do any of your boy...er...male...er...male boyfriends (redundant, I know, but somehow felt better given the context) have a problem with bugs?" Hey, when all else fails, resort to peer pressure. That one always works. Of course, this is going to come back to bite me in the butt when I try to use the same argument against something, i.e., "Well, if all your friends jumped off a cliff, would you?"

I look at him again. Hmmmm...this one just might work.

"For instance, K.? Would K. have a problem getting rid of a bug. Think about it..."

I picked K. because I know he's probably the most likely of Vaughn's friends that not only would not have a problem getting rid of a dead bug, but would probably slowly pluck the legs off a live one, and enjoy it.

Vaughn gets a sheepish grin on his face because I know he's thinking the same thing, though he's still refusing to accede on this point. This argument finally seemed to tip the scales.

I walked him through Bug Elimination 102: How to Dispose of a Bug Carcass (having completely bypassed Bug Elimination 101: How to Kill a Bug). I felt semi-competent in mentoring him in this matter, given there have been those rare occasions when I've had to eliminate a dead bug or two myself.

This class involved a handful of Kleenex (for buffering) and many "You can do it"s, which then quickly dissolved into "Suck it up!" "Be a man!" I felt like I'd turned into my dad, only this belly-up bug was not Bambi's mom. I then tried to guide him with self-hypnosis, "Imagine you are picking up a piece of dirt. Just keep telling yourself, 'It's just a piece of dirt. It's just a piece of dirt.'"

I finally ended up leaving him to his own devices after watching him for several minutes yak and gag while trying to scoop up the offensive substance, walking away, thinking, "I'll be damned if I'm going to raise one of those men that sees a spider, jumps up on the nearest chair, and screams out for their wife, "EEEEKKKKKK! Honey, can you come in here?"

I don't ask for doors to be opened for me. I don't expect men to gallop up on white chargers. I don't expect poetry or roses, but for God's sake, be able to deal with an insect. And for those women who are the bug exterminators in their family, all I can do is shake my head and say, "Honey, don't be surprised when he introduces you to his boyfriend, Lance," cause your beloved is living just this side of Gayville.