My twelve-year-old son announced today that he thinks he’s “puberating”. That’s his own word, by the way, and one of which Merriam-Webster has likely never heard. He said that he can see some facial hair above his lip and he’s been feeling, well, sort of different lately. Thank goodness he’s come to the conclusion that it’s puberty. I was getting ready to have his head shrunk.
This boy has always been a sensitive soul but lately he’s become positively weepy. And not just while watching that Sarah MacLachlan commercial with all of the shelter animals either.
In spite of his “puberation”, there’s a still a little boy inside him; one that still has much to learn about many things. One for whom life’s lessons can sometimes be painful.
Four years ago, when Matt was eight, I took the kids to our local fair. My husband recently had surgery and wasn’t able to go with us. The kids knew that a Dadless day at the fair meant that I would give them money for carnival games, something that their father rarely does.
As we were getting ready to leave the fair for the night, Matt saw a game where you could win either a small lizard (a green anole) or an Iguana. You had to throw white ping-pong balls into these small fishbowl-type things filled with water. It looked as if it would be difficult to win because the bowls were so small and their rims were practically the same size as the ping pong ball. The bowls were spaced far apart on a table. A ping pong ball would most likely land between the bowls rather than in them. My mind quickly analyzed the Potential for Bringing Home a New Family Pet and determined that with Matt’s lack of athletic skill coupled with the seeming impossibility of the game, we’d merely be making a donation to Mr. Lizard Game’s liquor fund.
Matt was given three balls. You could give him seventy-three balls and the boy still wouldn’t have a prayer of making it in one of those teeny bowls, I thought to myself.
No sooner had I finished my thought, I heard a loud “plink”. Remarkably, the first ball, the very first one that Matt had thrown, landed right in one of those teeny bowls. Matt had the option of continuing to play for the Iguana, or keeping his prize, which was a small green anole. Matt chose the anole.
Of course, being completely unprepared for having an anole as a pet, we left the carnival to get to the pet store before it closed. Fifty dollars later, we were set up with a tank, a heat lamp, a water dish, a cave in which the lizard could hide, and a supply of live crickets as food.
Matt named his anole Cypher. Actually, it was supposed to be Cyther, but Matt had a lisp and it came out “Cypher”.
Fast forward four years. I went into Matt’s room to wake him up for school.
Uh-oh. Something doesn’t smell too nice in here. I sniffed the hamper. Just typical boy-stink. I opened the closet, hoping we didn’t have another dead flying squirrel in there like we did last year. Nope. All good in there. Could it be a dead mouse inside the walls? While muttering to myself about critters getting inside and what a pain it is to live in an old house, I walked over to Cypher’s tank to turn on the light and spray him. The source of the smell was Cypher.
I didn't think before blurting out "Oh my gosh, Matt, Cypher's dead!" to my still-sleepy son. Big mistake! Now I had to get a teary child ready for school and figure out what to do with a dead pet, which by this point, was stinking nicely. Poor Cypher must have bought the farm some time over the weekend, but no one noticed. Matt probably just dumped some crickets in to feed him without really looking in the tank. The crickets were still running around, uneaten.
I knew that I had to get the tank out of Matt’s room before it proceeded to stink up the entire house. I picked up the tank and started to carry it out of Matt’s room. Dead lizard smell assaulted my nose.
Matt, sniffing: “Can I please see Cypher one more time?”
Me (holding the tank up to Matt in his bunk bed so he could see his deceased lizard): “Sure, sweetie.”
Matt: “Maybe he's just molting.”
Me (looking at shriveled, beef-jerky lizard with sunken eyes on the bottom of the tank and using my gentlest voice possible): “No, honey...I'm pretty sure he's not molting.”
Later, after Mission Bury the Lizard was successfully completed. I could honestly tell Matt that no, Cypher was definitely not molting. Lizards typically don't shed entire body parts and eyeballs when they molt.
Me (holding the tank up to Matt in his bunk bed so he could see his deceased lizard): “Sure, sweetie.”
Matt: “Maybe he's just molting.”
Me (looking at shriveled, beef-jerky lizard with sunken eyes on the bottom of the tank and using my gentlest voice possible): “No, honey...I'm pretty sure he's not molting.”
Later, after Mission Bury the Lizard was successfully completed. I could honestly tell Matt that no, Cypher was definitely not molting. Lizards typically don't shed entire body parts and eyeballs when they molt.
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btw - I absolutely DESPISE that Sarah MacLachlan commercial. It pisses me off - I know it's irrational, but it's like nails on the chalkboard.
o'stephanie - Lessons in life indeed. I suppose it's better to learn them on small animals before having to learn them on family members. Little bunnies break my heart.
lpsrocks - You're welcome to steal the word. Who knows? If it becomes popular enough, maybe Merriam-Webster will add it. No doubt "Joe the Plumber" will get in there after this year.
Umbrella - Komodo Dragon? Yikes! Thanks for putting in perspective how much worse it could have been. Plus, can you even imagine the stink from a Komodo Dragon? Ewww!
Don't you feel sorry for those little funway "disposal" animals? And don't even get me started about the Sarah McLachlan shelter ad. When they ran that (or something like it) during the Westminster Dog Show last year, I was ready to sign over the mortgage to the ASPCA if they'd just stop tormenting us (mainly me) with those ads.
I have a friend who is a Jr high/ high school track coach. She always says the boys are way more emotional than the girls during "puberating". Who knew??
I'm sorry about your lizard, too )= Despite how sickly they look when you first get them home, I've had some luck with state and county fair animals. At ours, you win goldfish to work up to an anole. Some of my friends decided they wanted an anole, didn't make it, and dumped the fish with me. Three years later, the little buggers were still alive. Who would've guessed?
And P.S. I can't watch the Sarah MacLachlan commercial either. So sad...
Anyway, your story brings back memories, and I have my own dead lizard story that doesn't warrant a full post. My brother was, let's say, mischevious in his youth, and he found a lizard outside and pretty much made him a free-range pet inside the house. When the lizard died, the funeral was held in the garbage disposal. Later that evening, after the funeral--specifically while dinner dishes were being washed--was when my parents uncovered the whole caper. Ew?
(thumbified for pubescence. wait, I think that might really be a word...)
angrymom - Ew! The garbage disposal?! I think I would have kept that fact to myself and taken it to my grave.
Jodi - Oh my gosh - ages 10 and 11? I feel for you. It's not going to be pretty when they both start "puberating" at the same time. I've never experienced it with girls, though. Maybe it will be better? (Nah. It's pretty much going to suck.)
Oh, that must have been one traumatic morning. Just getting through limbs and eyeballs falling off as you're trying to conduct a proper burial... True Grit should have been a movie tribute to moms.