From the time Michael and I first met there has been one constant disagreement ambling through our relationship; spiders. Michael thinks that spiders are mostly harmless and unscary. Michael is wrong. Spiders are dreadful and utterly terrifying. I will admit that his ambivalence toward the arachnid family is very useful when one of the little monsters is in our house. He is the official Spider-Remover in our family and he does a superb job. But that doesn't mean he’s right to not be afraid of them. I allow his opinion only because it benefits me.
I cannot adequately summarize in words my fear of spiders. On the rare occasions when Michael is not around to eradicate a spider and I have to brave the disposal myself, I literally get sweaty with fear. My heart races and I brace myself for the moment when the spider will lunge towards me, attach its hairy legs to my neck and chew my face off. My fear was intensified as a child when I made the senseless decision to watch the movie Arachnophobia at 10-years-old. In the theater. With surround sound and an enormous viewing screen. I can thank my older sisters for that. My anxiety over the 8-legged beasts was also cemented around that same age when my dad made me touch a Tarantula. His was a Bishop over students at Ricks College when I was young and we would occasionally accompany him to visit his ward members. One girl we visited had a Tarantula. I was instantly paralyzed with fear upon seeing it but everyone was goading me to pet it. My dad said we would stop by his office on the way home and I could have a soda if I was brave enough to touch it. I’m naturally a people-pleaser and I didn't want to look like a moron so I agreed. Plus I really wanted a soda. I touched the back of the hairy monster and blacked out for a moment. It was one of the most terrifying moments I have ever experienced. And I didn’t even get a soda because we were late heading home and didn’t have time to stop at the office. The non-payment of my sugary beverage was almost as traumatizing as touching a spider with my bare hands.
This disagreement between me and Michael has now spilled over into our child-rearing. I tell Eva that spiders are disgusting and yucky. Michael tells her they are good. A few weeks ago Michael asked me to stop telling Eva spiders are bad because I'm encouraging her to develop a fear of something that she shouldn’t be afraid of. I could see his point. I don’t want Eva to experience the same breathless terror that I feel when I see a spider. But I genuinely hate them and I physically cannot bring myself to tell her they are good.
We went to the zoo last week and saw some Tarantulas. Eva pressed her face against the glass and said, “Spiders. Yuck!” I beamed with pride until Michael corrected her and said they were good. I remained silent.
The next day I was bathing Eva and she was reciting all of the animals she had seen at the zoo. She said, “And spiders. Yuck!” Michael wasn’t around and I saw this as my opportunity to agree with her and deliver a speech with succinct bullet points of exactly why we hate spiders. I could even use evidence from reliable sources like Wikipedia or Arachnophobia to support my position. This was my moment to have somebody on my side in the battle against spiders.
Unfortunately, guilt took over. Instead of pontificating about the horrific nature of arachnids, I took a deep breath and corrected her. I said, “Eva…spiders are good. Daddy likes them.”
And then I vomited.
I’ll let Michael have his moment for now but mark your calendars for Eva’s 10th birthday. We’ll be watching Arachnophobia.
