I hate snakes. I have hated them as long as I can remember.
My earliest recollection is of a snake I saw in Bihar where I lived briefly. It had rained and the football field was muddy. That didn’t stop me or my friends. We played lustily for hours on a warm afternoon and then sat down near a tree to chat.
Just then somebody shouted, “Look!” I saw a midsize yellow-green snake sliding forward in the grass. Its slithering movement gave me the creeps and I realized I would never be comfortable in its proximity. It disappeared in minutes, but I didn’t want to be there any longer and left quickly.
My aunt was very keen on plants and animals and she would take my brother and me to the zoo. I loved those visits and absorbed avidly all she had to say about whatever we saw. There was a separate enclosure for snakes of all kinds, large and small. I went along the first time, but after that nothing would persuade me to approach the area. My aunt saw my aversion and let me sit and wait on a bench while she went with my brother to see the snakes.
The aversion remained. I was even uncomfortable looking at photographs of snakes. My wife, Jane, loved the National Geographic magazine and subscribed to it. I loved its coverage of different countries and cultures and its extraordinary photographs of unknown regions. One month it had a special section on snakes and its cover had the vivid photograph of a giant python. I saw Jane reading it with great interest, but I couldn’t bear to look at the python’s coils every time I passed the living room center table.
Fortunately for me my daughter’s piano teacher, while waiting for my recalcitrant daughter to turn up, I hate snakes. I have hated them as long as I can remember.
My earliest recollection is of a snake I saw in Bihar where I lived briefly. It had rained and the football field was muddy. That didn’t stop me or my friends. We played lustily for hours on a warm afternoon and then sat down near a tree to chat.
Just then somebody shouted, “Look!” I saw a midsize yellow-green snake sliding forward in the grass. Its slithering movement gave me the creeps and I realized I would never be comfortable in its proximity. It disappeared in minutes, but I didn’t want to be there any longer and left quickly.
My aunt was very keen on plants and animals and she would take my brother and me to the zoo. I loved those visits and absorbed avidly all she had to say about whatever we saw. There was a separate enclosure for snakes of all kinds, large and small. I went along the first time, but after that nothing would persuade me to approach the area. My aunt saw my aversion and let me sit and wait on a bench while she went with my brother to see the snakes.
The aversion remained. I was even uncomfortable looking at photographs of snakes. My wife, Jane, loved the National Geographic magazine and subscribed to it. I loved its coverage of different countries and cultures and its extraordinary photographs of unknown regions. One month it had a special section on snakes and its cover had the vivid photograph of a giant python. I saw Jane reading it with great interest, but I couldn’t bear to look at the python’s coils every time I passed the living room center table.
Fortunately for me my daughter’s piano teacher, while waiting for my recalcitrant daughter to turn up, evinced some interest in the magazine and turned its pages. When she finished her lesson, I gave her the magazine, saying, “You looked very interested in the magazine. Please take it and read it at your leisure.” I even gave her a box of chocolates as a reward for relieving me of the python’s sight.
When Jane returned from her office, she noticed the missing magazine and wondered where it had gone. I embroidered the truth a little and said that our daughter’s piano teacher was so fascinated by the issue that I had felt compelled to offer her the issue.
Years have passed since then, but my aversion for snakes does not appear to have abated. I know a little more about them, and their legitimate place in the environment and realize that only a few of them are poisonous and dangerous. No matter. The very sight of them makes me uncomfortable and I certainly don’t want to touch a magazine that features a gorgeous snake, large or small.
That is why I can’t understand what happened in a Washington public park a few years ago.
My earliest recollection is of a snake I saw in Bihar where I lived briefly. It had rained and the football field was muddy. That didn’t stop me or my friends. We played lustily for hours on a warm afternoon and then sat down near a tree to chat.
Just then somebody shouted, “Look!” I saw a midsize yellow-green snake sliding forward in the grass. Its slithering movement gave me the creeps and I realized I would never be comfortable in its proximity. It disappeared in minutes, but I didn’t want to be there any longer and left quickly.
My aunt was very keen on plants and animals and she would take my brother and me to the zoo. I loved those visits and absorbed avidly all she had to say about whatever we saw. There was a separate enclosure for snakes of all kinds, large and small. I went along the first time, but after that nothing would persuade me to approach the area. My aunt saw my aversion and let me sit and wait on a bench while she went with my brother to see the snakes.
The aversion remained. I was even uncomfortable looking at photographs of snakes. My wife, Jane, loved the National Geographic magazine and subscribed to it. I loved its coverage of different countries and cultures and its extraordinary photographs of unknown regions. One month it had a special section on snakes and its cover had the vivid photograph of a giant python. I saw Jane reading it with great interest, but I couldn’t bear to look at the python’s coils every time I passed the living room center table.
Fortunately for me my daughter’s piano teacher, while waiting for my recalcitrant daughter to turn up, I hate snakes. I have hated them as long as I can remember.
My earliest recollection is of a snake I saw in Bihar where I lived briefly. It had rained and the football field was muddy. That didn’t stop me or my friends. We played lustily for hours on a warm afternoon and then sat down near a tree to chat.
Just then somebody shouted, “Look!” I saw a midsize yellow-green snake sliding forward in the grass. Its slithering movement gave me the creeps and I realized I would never be comfortable in its proximity. It disappeared in minutes, but I didn’t want to be there any longer and left quickly.
My aunt was very keen on plants and animals and she would take my brother and me to the zoo. I loved those visits and absorbed avidly all she had to say about whatever we saw. There was a separate enclosure for snakes of all kinds, large and small. I went along the first time, but after that nothing would persuade me to approach the area. My aunt saw my aversion and let me sit and wait on a bench while she went with my brother to see the snakes.
The aversion remained. I was even uncomfortable looking at photographs of snakes. My wife, Jane, loved the National Geographic magazine and subscribed to it. I loved its coverage of different countries and cultures and its extraordinary photographs of unknown regions. One month it had a special section on snakes and its cover had the vivid photograph of a giant python. I saw Jane reading it with great interest, but I couldn’t bear to look at the python’s coils every time I passed the living room center table.
Fortunately for me my daughter’s piano teacher, while waiting for my recalcitrant daughter to turn up, evinced some interest in the magazine and turned its pages. When she finished her lesson, I gave her the magazine, saying, “You looked very interested in the magazine. Please take it and read it at your leisure.” I even gave her a box of chocolates as a reward for relieving me of the python’s sight.
When Jane returned from her office, she noticed the missing magazine and wondered where it had gone. I embroidered the truth a little and said that our daughter’s piano teacher was so fascinated by the issue that I had felt compelled to offer her the issue.
Years have passed since then, but my aversion for snakes does not appear to have abated. I know a little more about them, and their legitimate place in the environment and realize that only a few of them are poisonous and dangerous. No matter. The very sight of them makes me uncomfortable and I certainly don’t want to touch a magazine that features a gorgeous snake, large or small.
That is why I can’t understand what happened in a Washington public park a few years ago.
We lived then in Egypt and had come down to the US for a brief vacation. A friend invited us for a picnic in a local park and we were enjoying a pleasant spring morning, talking and snacking, when something unusual happened. Suddenly all the eyes in the park seemed glued toward its entrance.
I saw the reason when I turned and looked. A young man in his thirty’s was entering the park with a large snake wound around his waist and its head held lovingly in his hand. It was quite a sight.
He came close to us, unwound his pet and gently placed it on the grass in a spot where it could enjoy the sun. All the children went running to take a close look at the snake that lay on the grass and moved only slightly, clearly enjoying its sunny repose. My daughter, Lina, was mesmerized and went closer and closer to the snake to see it better.
Meanwhile, its owner was explaining to his avid young listeners what his remarkable pet does at home (crawls and sleeps), what it eats (live rodents) and where he got it (Philippines, in the Mindanao region). The young man said it was a wonderful pet and very friendly. To prove the point, he let the children first touch and then lift and hold the snake. It was a huge snake and four children were needed to hold it well. To my great chagrin, Lina was the first to volunteer.
Lina was happy and proud to hold the front section of the snake. She kept caressing it. Then she said to me, “Daddy, it is beautiful. Why don’t you also hold it with me?” Then it happened.
Disinclined to disappoint my six-year-old, I held the snake in my hands. I looked at the design on its body and, believe it or not, I realized that it was beautiful. The snake seemed, for some incredible moments, a wonderful pet indeed, friendly and entirely worthy of caresses. Through all my aversion those moments endure as a vivid, vibrant mystery.
I saw the reason when I turned and looked. A young man in his thirty’s was entering the park with a large snake wound around his waist and its head held lovingly in his hand. It was quite a sight.
He came close to us, unwound his pet and gently placed it on the grass in a spot where it could enjoy the sun. All the children went running to take a close look at the snake that lay on the grass and moved only slightly, clearly enjoying its sunny repose. My daughter, Lina, was mesmerized and went closer and closer to the snake to see it better.
Meanwhile, its owner was explaining to his avid young listeners what his remarkable pet does at home (crawls and sleeps), what it eats (live rodents) and where he got it (Philippines, in the Mindanao region). The young man said it was a wonderful pet and very friendly. To prove the point, he let the children first touch and then lift and hold the snake. It was a huge snake and four children were needed to hold it well. To my great chagrin, Lina was the first to volunteer.
Lina was happy and proud to hold the front section of the snake. She kept caressing it. Then she said to me, “Daddy, it is beautiful. Why don’t you also hold it with me?” Then it happened.
Disinclined to disappoint my six-year-old, I held the snake in my hands. I looked at the design on its body and, believe it or not, I realized that it was beautiful. The snake seemed, for some incredible moments, a wonderful pet indeed, friendly and entirely worthy of caresses. Through all my aversion those moments endure as a vivid, vibrant mystery.
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