I beamed with joy the first time I saw them swimming in the small PVC pipe that stuck out next to the sprinkler on the lawn of my elementary school. Immediately I ran to gather my friends.
Tadpoles!
Living in the city, we didn't see much wildlife. It was very exciting. We went to the school nurse and got a waxy paper cup to catch them in. I proudly marched into my third grade classroom, head held high, and put the cup down on the teachers desk with a satisfied smile.
"I found tadpoles!" I exclaimed. She squinted into the cup. I continued, "I saw them there, they were just swimming in that little pipe in the grass, and I got a cup from the nurse and I caught them! So they're gonna grow up and be frogs, and then I will have frogs. I'm going to name them..."
"Those aren't tadpoles, Holly. Those are mosquitoes." She frowned a little at the cup. I looked inside, baffled. "Are you sure?" I asked, respectfully, but with more than a little skepticism. "But they have round heads and squiggly tails and..." "They're mosquitoes. They're larvae. Like how caterpillars turn into butterflies." She said. I furrowed my brow at her and put a hand on my hip "I know what larvae are." I stated with authority.
Not long before, I learned that the little black and yellow crawlers clinging to the leaves of a particular bush I liked to examine for interesting bugs were Ladybug larvae. I had taken one into the library and the librarian, unphased, helped me look it up in a book.
"Please take your seat, Holly." My teacher said, pushing the cup toward me. I took the cup with me back to my chair. I decided to go to the library after school to get a book about frogs, just to be sure.
I knew a lot about bugs. I'd been collecting them in jars and bringing them home for years. But Entomology had recently begun to lose its lustre, and I'd moved on to larger creatures, mostly reptiles and amphibians. After verifying with the librarian that they were, in fact, mosquitoes, I took the cup to the lawn and unceremoniously poured them back into the pipe.
Since my tadpoles were fraudulent, I needed something new to captivate my imagination. It wasn't long before I found my next diversion.
There was a small patch of land behind the library that was not being used for anything, and I had designs on it.
I was going to build a turtle pond.
I had it all worked out. I was going to use a large plastic bucket with tapered sides that my mom was currently using only for laundry. I would dig a hole, fit the bucket in place, fill it with water, and put some turtles inside. Maybe some waterlilies, too. I'd save my allowance for a small water filtration system, the kind used in aquariums. I had a few friends behind me, and the school had shovels. It was sure to work.
Next, I needed to know what to feed them. I decided that the wavy green leaves of the papery purple Statice flowers that grew rampant in San Diego would look delicious to me, if I were a turtle. The first thing you have to do if you're going to keep animals is to know how to think like them. I had become quite good at thinking like a turtle, in my opinion. I collected some of the leaves in a vinyl zippered pouch, for when I got my turtles. I unzipped the bag often, gazing at the leaves and thinking of how tasty they would be, and how good I was at catering to the needs of my future amphibious dependents.
I wanted a professional to confirm my theory. There was a pet store next to my parents' bookstore, and I went in seeking an expert opinion. I found a clerk and said, "Excuse me, sir, but what do turtles eat?" He paused his sweeping and turned around, not seeing me at first. I was very small. "What do turtles eat?" I repeated. "Turtle food." He stated plainly, and resumed sweeping. I took his answer as sarcasm. He wasn't taking me seriously, because I was a kid. "I mean it, I really want to know what they eat. Please tell me." He looked at me with what was probably utter perplexity, but I took it as disdain. "Turtle food." He said, with an air of finality. I knew I wasn't getting anywhere with him. I left dissatisfied. It never dawned on me that turtles might eat "turtle food" the same way that fish eat smelly flakes of fish food, and cats and dogs eat kibbles of their own denomination. Turtles seemed much too exotic, like lizards, birds, or snakes, who eat crickets, seeds, and mice, respectively. I decided that I would check with the librarian to make sure that Statice leaves weren't poisonous, and then just wait to find out if the turtles liked them. If not, I was sure they'd like cabbage.
The next step in my plan was to gain the approval of the principal. I brought my zippered pouch full of leaves and went to the secretary to schedule a meeting. The secretaries liked me because I loved them, and frequently brought them flowers, and glittery cards on Secretary's Day.
I got a meeting with him right away. I pitched my idea with the finesse of an experienced business executive, proudly demonstrating how much work had gone into it. I explained the bucket, the filter, the waterlilies. I unzipped the bag to show him the leaves. He didn't even look at them. He just said no.
I took out a leaf and explained to him it's probable deliciousness, the complex subtleties of flavor it would more than likely bring to the palette of a turtle. He said, "No. You can't build a turtle pond behind the library." "But we'll dig the hole ourselves!" I said, thinking that was surely why he objected. Of course I didn't expect him to dig the hole! "No, Holly. And that's final" He said, and showed me out. I was fuming mad. I left his office, but continued my campaign. I sought the support of parents, friends, and teachers in vetoing his tyrannical decree. It was to no avail. I even tried to convince my friends to stage a protest in front of his office, but at eight years old they were mostly a-political. When all my efforts had failed me, I eventually gave up. I decided instead to spend recesses and lunch breaks marching laps around the sandy athletic field, hunting the many lizards inhabiting the ice plant growing at its border, who wandered out often to bask in the sun.
But I never truly relinquished my grudge against the principal for shattering my dream. By June, with the end of the school-year fast approaching, I hatched a plan for revenge.
This is how it would all play out:
I would gather some mosquito larvae yet to undergo their great transformation - it was surely soon to come. Everybody knows that summer is mosquito season. I would smuggle them into his office when he was out and hide them somewhere, in a drawer, perhaps, or under the desk.
They would lose their tails. They would grow legs. They would develop wings. Then they would attack. His office would be suddenly filled with a buzzing cloud of hungry mosquitoes. With their newly acquired insatiable appetites, they would bite him, and he would get really really itchy and never know from whence they came. I imagined him, besieged by a swarm of bloodthirsty insects, ineffectively swatting and maybe even screaming out in horror.
On the day I put my plan to action, I borrowed a cup from the nurse. I scooped up some larvae and walked into the administrative office. Somehow, I expected to be able to walk right into the principal's office. When the secretary stopped me, I knew there would be trouble. I hid the cup behind my back. "What have you got there?" She asked. Oh no! She'd noticed I was hiding something. I switched hands behind my back, and showed her an open palm. "Nothing..."
"No, there, behind your back. What is that?" She asked.
The jig was up. I panicked. I couldn't confess to smuggling a cup of soon-to-be mosquitoes into the office. I knew just what to say.
"Tadpoles!" I declared, proudly displaying the cup.
She peered inside.
"Oh, sweetie, those aren't tadpoles..."
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