Kids see beauty where adults see a beast

By Tom Zytaruk

My boy Noah ran up to me the other day, gripping a Mason jar and grinning like there was nothing else so special in the entire world.

His brother Max - they're four-year-old twins - wasn't far behind, tripping over his words to get the marvelous news out.

While playing on their slide, they'd found a caterpillar at the end of a stick, got a jar, and put the caterpillar - whom they named "Sticky" - inside, along with a pine cone and a few blades of grass and leaves for it to eat.

Meantime, Max carefully put the stick back where he'd found it, announcing that tomorrow, same time, same place, another caterpillar would surely appear there, too.

These past few days, Sticky has been carried around everywhere. And each night, the boys proclaim that he will turn into a butterfly.

I smile, all the while thinking to myself that caterpillars sure are disgusting.

Children probably see them as cartoon characters, or perhaps, due to their innocence, can see beauty in ugliness in a way I no longer can, having been exposed to too many nature shows and National Geographic photographs. Have you ever seen a caterpillar's face up close? If you have, no doubt you wish you hadn't.

I have a special enmity toward caterpillars, hailing from Manitoba myself. There, in our back yard, we had 14 plum trees. The robins would eat the overripened fruit that fell to the ground, get drunk and crash into our windows. But that's another story. The tent caterpillars also loved our trees.

I remember squishing them with my bicycle tires when I was a kid. You couldn't help it, there were so many of them. Splotches of purple and green goo all over the pavement. Once, a buddy and I grabbed some brooms and swatted enough of the gruesome creatures off the walls of my house in Windsor Park to fill a garbage can. What do you do with such a mass of wriggling disgustingness? We lit 'em on fire, with a bit of lighter fluid. You can imagine the sight and smell.

So, that's my disturbing take on caterpillars. When my boys ran up to me with Sticky, I thought of that garbage pail, the spotty pavement and a story I'd heard about a tent caterpillar crawling halfway up a kid's nose at camp while he was sleeping. When the poor child awoke, he of course freaked out and yanked at the bug, which broke in half in his nose, releasing all sorts of purple and green goo. Imagine the trauma.

So now, when the boys shove Sticky in my face while I'm chewing on a sandwich, or worst of all, eating a plum, I desperately try to conceal my revulsion and offer a "that's cool, but not while Daddy's eating, please."

After all, a daddy must try not to pop his children's balloon, metaphorically speaking. Maybe someday they'll come to find caterpillars as disgusting as their old man does, but not if I can help it.

For the time being, I can hardly wait for Sticky to turn into a butterfly.

posted on 04/25/2005