The other evening, as I prepared for bed, I made my usual trip to the thermostat to adjust the air conditioning. This nightly ritual follows a predictable pattern: checking all the locks, turning off the lights, and giving my little one a gentle kiss on the forehead while he sleeps soundly. As I reached out to tap the touch-screen, my mind wandered to a new book that I had just purchased. I hoped it was resting by my bedside rather than in the front seat of my car.
In that moment of distraction, I glanced up and was met with the horrifying sight of a scorpion perched directly atop the thermostat—just an inch away from my outstretched finger and perfectly aligned with my eye level. Its translucent yellow tail wriggled menacingly, sending chills down my spine. My instincts kicked in, and I felt my heart skip a beat.
My disdain for scorpions runs deep. If there exists a word beyond hate, that’s what I feel for these creatures. I understand they are living beings, but they genuinely creep me out. I can honestly say that if every scorpion on this planet met a miserable end, I would not shed a single tear. In fact, I would lead a jubilant chorus of fellow scorpion-phobes as we tossed our black lights aside and reclaimed the right to walk barefoot in our homes during the hot Arizona summers.
But alas, the scorpions persist, and here I stood, facing one that was determined to shatter my calm evening. My fear was palpable, yet I somehow managed to vocalize an elongated expletive.
You might think, “Jamie, you’ve lived in this house for a decade. You’ve encountered a scorpion or two each summer—this is nothing new.” You are correct, but there’s a significant difference: I was married during those summers, and now I am not. Being married meant I could scream for help, and a swift, decisive stomp from my husband’s size 12 boot would follow. When alone, I would merely trap the intruder under a box and deal with it later—no direct confrontation necessary.
Now, as a single mother, this scorpion represented my most daunting test since the divorce. Balancing work with a whirlwind of a child who has special needs? Navigating finances? Swallowing feelings of disappointment and frustration to model kindness for my son? Those were mere pop quizzes. This scorpion, on the other hand, embodied all my uncertainties about parenting alone and all the doubts I held regarding my capabilities. This was the ultimate trial.
I had to conquer this challenge. I needed to muster my strength—my inner warrior. I briskly headed to my closet, surveying my footwear options. I settled on a sturdy platform wedge and returned to confront my foe. ONE (deep breath), TWO (ready the weapon), THREE (stop counting before you lose it), GO!
With one swift motion, I knocked the scorpion from the thermostat to the floor. It made an attempt to flee, but I was now on a mission. Forget the freedom songs; what escaped my lips was a primal battle cry—AY-YAY-AY-YAY! I swung my stylish wedge like a battle-axe, as if my life depended on it. Because, quite frankly, it did.
The scorpion perished with my first strike, but I wasn’t taking any chances; I delivered two more blows, ensuring it wouldn’t resurrect like some nightmarish horror film character. Three hits, and it was finally over.
Yes! I had triumphed! I began my celebratory dance—an awkward shimmy that resembled a white girl at a wedding—when I heard a small voice behind me, laced with concern.
“Mom, did you get it?” My son stood there, pajamas on, eyes wide with apprehension. He shared my fear of scorpions.
“I got it, buddy. I was terrified, but I took care of it.” His tension eased, and a smile broke across his face.
“Good job protecting us, Mom! You are a killer of scorpions!” His words filled me with pride as he rushed over for a hug. I reminded myself of the lesson I often share with him: being brave isn’t about being unafraid; it’s about facing your fears head-on.
With my arm around my son, I glanced at the shoe still clutched in my hand. I can do this. I can be courageous. I am indeed a killer of scorpions.
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In summary, facing our fears—whether they come in the form of scorpions or personal challenges—can empower us. Each confrontation teaches resilience and strength, reminding us we have the capability to overcome any obstacle.
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