September 22, 2010
Today my kids found a snake at the park. Roughly the size of a large worm, the reptile was hanging out in between the cracks of the sidewalk.
"SNAKE!" screamed my son at the top of his lungs.
Suddenly, the snake had 10,000 visitors.
"Don't touch it," I told the herd of school-aged children who had gathered to inspect the animal.
One boy sat down on the pavement and turned his arm into a ramp. "Climb up my arm," he whispered encouragingly to the snake.
Another boy offered the snake a leaf to eat.
Good ideas spread fast. Within seconds, huge clumps of grass were being dumped on top of the snake.
"The snake looks hungry," a little girl concluded.
"Just leave it alone!" I told the group.
My son asked if he could pet the snake, or preferably put it into the plastic Tupperware container that was inside his lunch box.
"The snake is staying here," I told him. "You can look, but you can't touch."
"We could take it to the zoo," my daughter proposed. "I could hold it in my lap while you drive."
"Or we could just leave it where it is," I replied.
"I know someone who once ate a snake," volunteered another boy.
My kids' eyes widened with surprise and wonder before shifting back to the snake. Pandora's Box had just been opened.
"I wonder what a snake would taste like," my son mused.
"We're going to go home now," I announced.
"Like chicken," the boy with the friend who ate a snake replied authoritatively.
I thanked the boy for his knowledge and pushed my kids in the direction of the car.
"The next time we go to eat," my son said pensively, "I'm going to order snake."
The crazy thing is that there are some restaurants in central Florida that just might actually serve it.