For generations, bugs have seemingly infatuated children, one bug holding just as much of a profound interest to them as another. I have often seen the scenario of a child, both male and female, endlessly playing with a bug while the mother’s reaction is always the same, with phrases like, “put that down, it’s yucky”.

The whole bug fad began with my son, Matthew, when he was only a year old and curious about all things in the world, without a worry as to how bad they might be for him. I always watched him closely, as we parents do at that age, when they quickly run from one exciting place to another. One afternoon, while making lunch, I turned around to see him chewing on something, and as I hurried over to him, I suddenly saw that he was ever so happily munching on a few ladybugs that he had found in the window sill. The mere sight nearly traumatized me, as I was still in that phase of “cleaning the world” for him. After making him spit them out and then cleaning every window sill in my home, I found myself giving him the “bugs are yucky” speech.

As a toddler, Matthew’s infatuation with bugs remained, although I was grateful that he had graduated from ingesting them to merely chasing them around outside. Numerous times, I observed him abandon the toys he loved to follow around a bug that he had somehow spotted. “What is it about these bugs?” I had to ask myself. I think he would have stalked those insects for hours if he could have.

When he finally ensnared one, my son proudly came to me with a tightly clenched fist, anxious to show me his trophy, as I shuddered, only able to imagine what he was about to reveal. “Bug!” He announced, looking as if he had just conquered the world, and as he opened his fist, I saw the most horrific black arachnid, scurrying away and falling from his grasp, that I had ever seen.

Needless to say, that momentous occasion started a valiant endeavor of bug collecting for my son. He had found a new hobby of capturing live insects, only to hold them hostage in a small, grass-filled jar with a lid full of holes until they gave up the struggle for their lives. I wondered what the infatuation of this process was until I flashed back to the days of my friends and me catching lightning bugs, or fireflies as some call it, in my backyard at night. With the memories of those days of my youth came a grin upon my face as I realized that those were days of fun and freedom for us. I found myself amused that something so simple had always been such entertainment for us. I then understood – he was making happy memories of his own.

For the first time, Matthew and I went outside that evening, bug chasing together, in desperate search of those lightning bugs. The two of us gallantly drifted around our yard, grabbing at bugs to put in his jar, and just for a moment, I was a child again. It was exhilarating, and I thought to myself, “this is the beauty of bugs”.

“Mommy, can I keep them in my room tonight for a night jlight?” He asked me, and I cordially obliged.

Shortly after that, the thrill of bugs seemed to fade away from him, but it was short-lived, only a couple of years. That was the point in his young life when he realized that it was more fun to abuse bugs than to enjoy them as his pets. From a friend in his first grade class, he had learned that flicking these small creatures with his finger miraculously made them soar through the air with amazing speed. I soon discovered that it was a popular game between little boys to see who could flick a bug the farthest, and this contest could take hours, depending on the number located. It also sparked uplifting conversations between the boys about bugs and all that could be done with them.

“I heard on TV that people eat them because they are a good source of protein”, I once heard one of Matthew’s friends say.

“What is protein?” Another asked as the first child so intelligently explained how protein makes kids grow big and strong.

“My mom said that I ate some ladybugs when I was a little kid”, my son so proudly bragged about his “youth”.

“I probably have a lot of protein because I eat a lot of bugs”, the inquisitive one added, and I quietly giggled more with each remark that I heard among the insect enthusiasts.

The next thing I knew, Matthew and his friends were searching the house for materials to make slingshots out of, which ended up consisting of sticks and thick rubber bands. They were an innovative group, and I learned that their homemade weapons actually worked pretty well for their flying bug show that I was invited to attend. No other toy, at that time, could have amused them more, and once again, I somehow saw the beauty of bugs.

Matthew, now eight years old, has once again lost his infatuation with the arachnids of the world, temporarily at least, but from time to time, I notice that there remains a small thrill in the murder of bugs, death by stomping, and though his he has now stepped up his interest from bugs to frogs and toads, I am grateful to have earned that all creatures hold purpose in the world, especially the beauty in those bugs.