THE SPECTRUM (St. George, Utah) 20 July 07 Son, you simply cannot take that slithering snake home with you (Rich Panessa)
I blame my mother for the fear I've had regarding snakes.
Any snake. All snakes.
I had just stepped off the school bus, when she called to me to see what she had captured only minutes before. I was so curious (as any 6-year-old kid would) to see what my pal, my best buddy ... my mom had in this old covered pot behind the house. She said, "You won't believe this Richard."
Then, using a stick, revealed a Garter snake, which was coiled like a spring. The moment the cover was completely removed the serpent sprung like it was shot out of a cannon passed my ear, with mouth open, and I swear if it had an arm, it would have "high fived" me as it went by.
I don't think I've ever recovered from that incident. I hate snakes.
Years later, my son, Ken, finds this wonderful hobby. It wasn't music or stamp collecting, photography, astronomy or sports. It was snakes! Not only snakes, but all of their slippery friends, too. Lizards ... monitors, iguanas, geckos, gilas, toads, frogs, salamanders, and all the rest of that crowd, but most of all - snakes!
To his credit he read everything he could get his hands on and today has become quite an expert on many of these creepy crawlers. His home, not mine, has become the lair of a Red Boa, now stretching out to 8 feet in length.
I remember when he and his friends had gone to a nearby park in Brooklyn, a borough of New York City. I was throwing a set of plugs in the old Chevy when they came running down the block with a five gallon bucket covered by an old towel.
"What you got in there," I naively asked.
When the towel was removed, my mind raced back 30 years to a place long ago, a pot, a backyard, a stick, my mother. Oh, no! This bucket contained at least 10 Garter snakes, which to me looked like Anacondas. I immediately recovered from buckled knees and instructed him to bring them back to the park. I finished my work and he and his "snakeaholic" friends followed my instructions.
Back in the house, Sheila had dinner ready. After washing up, we gently pushed the door to Ken's bedroom to witness him making three of his slithering pals comfortable in a 20 gallon tank, which once was the home to some other unwanted creatures.
"I thought I told you to get rid of the snakes," I fumed. "Furthermore, if they get loose we'll never be able to find them."
I put on a manly front, but down deep I wanted to grab the screw gun and caulking and seal his bedroom door closed. He agreed to release them in the park on his way to school the following day. I believe I slept with one eye open the entire night,.
When I returned from work my wife informed me that Ken had left the house with the snakes and they were gone. I breathed a silent sigh of relief, but as I did from the lower corner cabinet in the kitchen I spotted this squiggly, striped, awful creature coming my way. There I was again, the pot, a backyard, a stick, my mother, not again! This time I grabbed a towel and threw it over the giant scaly reptile (only 14 inches long - but in my mind it was a 20 footer) and placed it back in the tank in my son's room. The explanation from the boy was that our friend had gotten loose that morning and he didn't want to say anything, figuring he'd show up eventually.
His interest in reptiles never ceased. That summer we were wrapping up our vacation in the Hunter Mountain region at a friend's cabin, and loading up the car to return home, when we could see my son running toward the car from the woods with a 4 foot black snake over his head.
Only yards away he ecstatically begged, "Can I take him home?"
The rest of us jumped in the car, locked the doors and rolled up the windows.
I really hate snakes.
Son, you simply cannot take that slithering snake home with you