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.