The Roach

I couldn't help myself, you know. It was merely a reaction. A gut instinct. It was a moment in time that was destined. We were standing in my mother's kitchen talking. Hopers and Tabitha were playing on the floor. Noodle, coloring in the dining room. I glanced down and noticed a dark brown object, about the size of my thumb, on the floor near the cabinet.

"Eww. A dead roach," I said, aiming my comment at my mom. It wasn't just any dead roach though. It was the really icky kind that seem sentient when alive and have articulating heads that turn to look at you as they skitter past your foot.

"Where?" Mom asked, craning her neck to see past me. Just then, as if sensing our words and using her super power of doing the opposite of whatever I wanted her to, Hopers leaned over and snatched up the roach with her chubby little fist.

"EEEEIIIKKKK!" I screeched, uncharacteristically loud, and grabbed Hopers by the shoulders. She dropped the roach, which landed (apparently alive) on its back, wiggling its legs in a feeble attempt to escape. Hopers crumpled over onto the tile and began crying, afraid that she had just gotten in big trouble.

After it was all over (the roach was flushed) and I had dried my daughter's tears with hugs and kisses, I couldn't help but wonder... Will this be a moment that is permanently ingrained in my child's brain for a lifetime? Is is possible that she could have remained innocently curious about giant brown bugs for eternity if I hadn't reacted that way? I think I just scarred my kid in the same way that I was scarred as a small child. My own mother jumping away in terror placed a fear (call it a really deep heebie-jeebie) inside me that I just passed on to my offspring this morning! All I can say is that history really does repeat itself.