When I was in my late twenties and early thirties living on my own with my two cats, Cleocatra and Charlemagne, I was terrified of spiders. If I saw one in my bedroom, I would send in the cats, close my bedroom door except for a small crack, and either hope for solid evidence that the spider was gone or just sleep on the couch. Charlemagne (Charlie) seemed to know my discomfort and on more than one occasion would come out of the room with spider legs dangling out of his mouth and would then make a satisfying crunch. I'm guessing that sometimes I simply imagined that he had dispatched of the spider so that I could sleep peacefully. I assume that much of what I saw and heard was amplified by my fear and imagination. I spent years yelping and running away at the sight of even the tiniest of these eight-legged critters. Soon after my twins were born, I decided that I did not want my children to grow up with my fears. I was going to have to get over it and learn how to live peacefully with spiders. Strangely, once I had this mindset, it just happened. As my children grew older I even stopped getting rid of the spiders. If one of the girls found one in the bathroom, I said "What shall we name him?" Now, every time there is a spider in residence in our guest bathroom, he receives the traditional name "Fred, the bathroom spider." When they started picking out their own library books, we'd check out books about spiders, and read stories where spiders were the main characters. We also took time to marvel at the amazing webs the spiders wove in out backyard. We were completely fascinated by the number of teeny tiny little spiderlings would emerge out of the ball on the momma spider's web.
I also realized, when I flew cross-country by myself with my 3 year-old twins and 18 month old baby, that flying had lost some of its terror. Every time I get on a plane with my children, I am either too busy attending to them or so focused on modeling the appropriate calm behavior, that I don't seem to have time to get overwhelmingly frightened. I had noticed this once before when I flew on a business trip next to 2-3 year old boy and was so busy interacting with him that I forgot to get scared. Now, I actually look out the window at the lovely scenery below. I'm still nervous, especially when we hit turbulence, but I try to get some joy out of the experience as well.
Heights? I'm still working on that one. I won't go up the Space Needle or on the Great Wheel, but I will hike and ride ski lifts and get carefully close to the edge to enjoy a spectacular view.
Today, I was so lucky to sit next to Vidor. Somehow having his young, inquisitive and impressionable mind so close to me, gave me strength. I was quite nervous about handling and cutting into the cow eyeballs. I also thought I would have a tremendously difficult time with actual human organs. There was a perfect combination of events. Our instructor said just the right words about honoring the lives that had given us the opportunity to explore and discover. I had the realization that whatever feelings I had about doing this activity, it was going to happen, right in front of me, I might as well be an active part in it. Then, right next to me, was this perfect reminder of all the children that I will teach in the future. I would never want their fears to hold them back. I couldn't let mine do the same. I'm so glad that I actively participated. Once we began, I started to realize I CAN do this. Looking at all of the pieces and how the fit together and how they functioned just gave me an ever stronger, deeper appreciation of their elegant design. What a gift. Thank you, children, for helping me to grow. I hope I can return the favor.
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