My wife recently confided in me—something she rarely does… alright never—that I am responsible for our children. Wow! Oh wait a minute… that I am responsible for our children’s phobias. Sorry, that last word makes all the difference.
Once you become a parent, protection of your young becomes paramount—except when your children drive you crazy, then extermination of your offspring just becomes part of the normal order of things.
But when you’re not yelling, screaming, or otherwise stamping out the future human-race, you are acting in their best interest, and against all pest—not counting mom and dad of course.
When I say pest I mean pest. Bugs, insects, creepy, crawly, slimy things. The “underworld” is often under foot in our house, except when it’s on the ceiling, walls or in our hair. Pick your poison.
And according to my wife, part of the chaos in our home—circus city as she likes to call it—results from me and our two boys or… dad, phobo, and nit, as we are affectionately known as around here.
I always try to counter with, “But we have girls too dear.” but that missile never seems to land with the desired effect.
Whenever there was a job to be done I, “Insectman” was there. If it had been left to my wife, the invasion would have already occurred, and our last stand would have happened years ago.
Fortunately the man with the cape (me with a towel tied around my neck), newspaper, shoe or what other weapon happened to be handy, was there dashing about to save the day. Yes there were some scuffed remains on the ceiling, and ripped and torn newspapers to be gathered up, but victory was ours.
These days I am not completely in retirement—occasionally the insect signal lights up the night sky—and I am off in the “Insecticide Mobile” leaving the “Pest Cave” in the middle of the night, on another mission of mercy. Usually this takes me to one of our daughters houses to wage war with the wiggler!
Pow!, Smack! Bam! And a few broken lamps and televisions later, the job is done… “no need to thank me good citizens.”
That brings me to “Insectman’s” latest villains… his wife and daughters—oh how soon they forget.
Whenever there was a minion of the underworld to be crushed I was always there for them, but now that the shoes on the other hand—or should be—do they come to the rescue? No, and all I get is lip!
“All the kids have phobias because of you, you know” she tells me with a smile, while cowering under her throw blanket—which, by the way, she claims to use only to keep warm. And then there is our daughters, who disavow any knowledge of past Entomological adventures that we shared together.
Lastly they have taken to name calling, referring to me as dad and his sidekicks “Phobo” (a reference to our oldest son’s dawning gloves whenever doing battle), and “Nit” (referring to our youngest boy who has just came home with lice).
Where is the support here? Now “Insectman” and his sidekicks, “phobo” and “Nit are in the battle of their lives with their new arch nemesis, “The Head Louse.” And we are being asked to get “Rid” to get rid of him. And you know what that means: we’ll be going it alone.
Pray for “Insectman” and his sidekicks, “Phobo” and “Nit”.