Last night I started reading a new novel: A Head Full of Ghosts, by Paul Tremblay. I have always enjoyed a spooky book or movie, and with the fall temperatures teasing us, it seemed like the perfect time to start a scary read! So far, I’m really enjoying the book and ended up staying up way past my bedtime. I was just tucking myself in (since nobody else will), about to turn the light off, when I saw it: eight hairy legs, eight glaring eyes, and some of the most horrifying fangs, dripping with venom (a slight exaggeration may have been used for added effect). The spider was plastered to my ceiling, ready to pounce at any moment, but more than likely waiting until I turned off the light before springing its attack. I carefully considered all of my options, and proceeded with the one that made the most sense . . . I told the spider goodnight, to watch over me, turned off the light, and went the sleep. I know what many of you are thinking. “Aren’t you afraid it’s going to drop on you while you sleep??” And to be honest . . . a little . . . but so what if it did? However, my laissez-faire attitude towards spiders took a while to master.
The Beginning
I suppose my fear of spiders started like a fear of anything else, which is a lack of understanding; like a fear of the dark, for example. When we are young (or sometimes not so young) we don’t really comprehend that darkness is simply the absence of light. It is the same world as it is in the light, just, darker. However, fear, whether we’re talking about the dark or spiders or whatever, is often influenced from others’ perceptions or fears. We hear different animals outside at night or hear about violent acts happening at nighttime, so naturally we adopt a “things that go bump-in-the-night” assumption anytime the lighting is low. The same is true with spiders and other critters. People are afraid of them, so they write stories and make movies about these bugs murdering innocent town folk and taking over the city (ever see the movie Arachnophobia??). So perhaps it is Hollywood’s fault that I was terrified of spiders, or maybe, just maybe, it was because my dad, the strongest and bravest man I knew, is also scared of spiders.
That’s right. My ol’ man. This guy was (and still is) tough as nails. He was “Mr. Outdoorsman,” spending any leisure time he had hunting, camping, and fishing. I’d seen him slice through the meat of his hand while filleting fish and barely bat an eye, and personally witnessed him obliterating his opponents in armwrestling matches. And let’s not forget the most important little kid flex on the playground: “My dad can beat up your dad.” But, the fact of the matter is, this true grit son-of-a-gun was a big wuss when it came to bugs, especially those arachnids. Any time I saw my dad encounter his eight-legged nemeses, it would always end with the sound of some some blunt object crunching the unlucky soul. I remember one time, Dad was in the bathroom and suddenly started shouting my name, telling me to hurry. When 7-year old me walked in, I found dad sitting in the bathtub, pointing at a spider on the wall. He wanted me to kill it so he could continue bathing in peace. So that pretty much explains it, doesn’t it? The man who more or less taught me how to be a “man,” was terrified of spiders, so how could I NOT be?
The Middle
The dictionary definition of a phobia is “an extreme or irrational fear of or aversion to something,” and that was definitely the case for me with spiders. For the most part, my life wasn’t altered in anyway, I was just scared of them and would either ask Mamie to kill them, or, as I got a little older, muster up the courage to face them myself. Mamie’s house was prone to all types of bugs for several reasons: we lived in the country on a heavily wooded lot, Mamie loved house plants, my siblings and I were constantly leaving the patio door open, and the original patio that Mamie’s husband Lenn turned into a family room/den was not properly sealed. That room was humid in the summer and freezing in the winter and constantly had some creepy crawlers finding their way inside. This room still exists, which my wife unaffectionately refers to as the bug room, and is on the chopping block for when we someday renovate our home. However, in-between it being the “family room” and the Bug Room, it was my bedroom.
One evening (I was probably around 12 years old), I was getting ready for bed, when I saw a spider on the ceiling (much like the beginning of this story). I managed to get it by standing on my bed and reaching up with Mamie’s Swiffer. Satisfied, I crawled into bed, only to find another one resting on my headboard. After dealing with the second one, I became paranoid and determined that if there were two, there must be more. I began my hunt by pulling my bed and all the other furniture away from the wall, opening all drawers, and looking under anything I could pick up. I looked in every nook and cranny of that room, even between the pleats of the curtains. By the time I had finished my hunt, I had found and destroyed nearly a dozen spiders (to those of you who hate spiders, your skin is probably crawling; to those of you who love spiders, you are cursing me out loud)! I finally decided it was safe enough to venture to bed, but I saw spiders in my sleep all night long.
Another memory that has always stayed with me once again involved the infamous Bug Room. As a teen, I had a pretty good part-time job working at the local “Barn” dinner theater, as well as teaching some piano lessons. So needless to say, I had a nice flow of cash coming in. I always had money in the bank and enough to buy whatever I my heart desired. And, one thing my heart desired was a big screen TV (side note, I wish that a few hundred dollars per week was still more than enough to live on). I was all ready to head to the Barn for my bussing shift, but I was looking at my DVDs, coming up with a cinematic plan for when I returned only 4 hours later. That’s when I heard a scratching noise at the door (and, when I say door, I mean a door that led outside to the patio. Remember, my room used to BE a patio, but when it was built, another patio was added. It really was a sweet room for a teen, with access to outside, if you don’t count all the bugs, and the drafts, and the fact that my bedroom door was a sliding glass door).
I ignored the scratch once, but continued to hear it. Figuring it must be the cat wanting in, I intuitively opened the outside door and felt something with a bit of weight hit me in the forehead. I looked down, and on the floor, just inches from my bare feet, was one of the biggest wolf spiders I had ever seen. Having realized that the spider had actually touched my head, I began emitting sounds reminiscent of the Three Stooges having a conniption fit. Mamie yelled “What’s the matter?” from the living room, and all I could get out was, “Spider!!” as I watched the little bastard slip underneath my TV. Because this was the early 2000s, big screens were still heavy and bulky back then, and I knew I wouldn’t have time to move the 225-pound TV away from the wall and search for Mr. Wolf Spider. So I left for work, but not before leaving it a threat that sounded something like this: “I am going to work, spider. I will be back at 8:30 this evening. I will find you, and I will kill you.”
Mamie overheard me and called me a “big fusspot.” And, I suppose I was. But, when I came home that evening, I kept my promise. When I used to tell this story, the actual hunting of the spider was my favorite part to reenact; however, now, not so much. We can just leave it at: I found it, killed it, and left it in a Ziplock on the kitchen counter to prove to Mamie how big it actually was. In fact, that story was always a favorite amongst my fellow arachnophobics. I even remember telling that story to a customer of the coffee shop I worked at through college. She laughed so hard, and even brought me in a shirt one day that displayed a slightly modified version of FDR’s infamous quote, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself . . . and spiders” (now you know where the title of this post came from).
By the way, I never did find out what was scratching at the door . . .
The End (or rather, New Beginning)
So how did I go from despising spiders nearly to the point of the meme below (which has been shared with many times on Facebook because of my well known fear) to allowing them to go unharmed in my home? It all started with my friend Charlotte.
And no, I’m not talking about E.B. White’s children’s book character . . . though I totally ripped off the name, for obvious reasons. One spring, I noticed a beautiful orb weaver spider in an enormous, perfectly spun web. I wouldn’t typically kill a spider if it was outside, but I would still destroy their webs, not wanting them anywhere near my house. It was about 6 feet from our main entrance, so I decided to leave her alone. Later, when I took the dog out, I noticed several mosquitos were trapped in the web. Spring had hardly begun and the mosquitos were worse than ever, ruining any outdoor activities we attempted. It was then I realized the orb and I had something in common: she liked to dine on mosquitos, and I liked for her to dine on mosquitos. So I started calling her Charlotte and continued to let her be, being careful whenever I would do any work in her corner of the property.
Well, she must’ve told her friends, because that spring and summer, my yard was just full of orb weavers. I would relocated them when they built their webs directly in front of the door, but, other than that, they were perfectly welcome. I even had one get cozy outside of my car, on the passenger side mirror. I thought this one must’ve moved out because she was gone the next morning when I left for work. But each night, as the sun was starting to set, there she was, back in the mirror. I let her go all summer long until I desperately needed to wash my car. Worried for her safety, I waited til she came out for the evening, and carefully relocated her to an evergreen bush at the side of the woods.
After the Summer of the Orbs, I started getting comfortable letting various little spiders live indoors as well, especially in the Bug Room. I figured mosquitos and other insects sometimes made it inside too, so it couldn’t hurt to have some reinforcements. Then . . . the ultimate test. It was late at night (of course, right??), and I was in the bathroom when I turned around to see a humongous wolf spider on the wall. His stature made the already cramped half-bath/laundry combo seem even smaller, as he peered back at me from only about two feet away. All of the hair on my arms stood up, my heart started beating harder and I let out a gasp. Orb weavers and basement spiders were one thing, but this sucker was huge! He had to die . . . or did he? And right then and there, something changed in me. I tiptoed past the gigantic wolf spider, went and found a disposable cup and a piece of paper, and returned to the bathroom. Then, I just stood there, staring, trying to build my nerve. I slowly began inching closer and closer, until finally, I slammed the cup overtop of the spider, slid the paper between the wall and the cup and ran like hell! Once outside, I released him into the woods and wished him well. I felt so proud of myself. I did it! I had finally overcome my fear . . . or at least I would no longer let it get the best of me!
Then I left pretty bad when I discovered one of his legs stuck to the wall in the bathroom. Oops. Oh well, if dogs can do okay with three legs, a spider will be alright with seven.
Ever since then, I have not killed a spider. I know some of you reading will praise me, and others will think I’ve gone mad, but I truly love spiders now. I name them. I talk to them. For the first several months after the Night of the Wolf Spider, I followed my self-made rule, “If it is in a web, let it be.” But anymore, I have started giving them free reign. I even have a little friend right now living above the backsplash of my kitchen sink. Pretty much the only time I relocate one now is if it is too big, or if it is in a place where it will freak my wife out. If it’s too cold outside or I’m feeling especially lazy, I just take them to the Bug Room (just don’t tell my wife that). And something I am most proud of is that my son will not harm a spider. We have a designated cup for relocating our eight-legged friends called the “spider cup.” He is much different than me when I was his age. Had I not changed my ways while he was still really young, it may be a different story; although, even my wife has turned over a new leaf when it comes to spiders . . . but she still makes me get them off of her car.
If I’m being honest, I am still not completely over my fear of spiders; as in, I prefer them to NOT be on me (however, I sometimes am able to relocate them by hand if the Spider Cup isn’t readily available). But, the spiders and I, we have an understanding now. Well, I don’t know if they understand anything about me, but it is ME who now understands, and appreciates THEM.
So what happened to my little friend from last night? I have no idea, for he was gone when I woke up. But hey, I’m still here, so he did a good job watching over me!
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