In grade two, my beloved teacher Mrs. Hossack taught the class a unit on worms. We read How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell. We wrote a story about a construction-paper worm that coiled around the classroom and out into the lobby. We made worms out of clay. My creation, a Cyndi Lauper worm with a red beehive and red lipstick, still sits on my father’s desk.
One of our final tasks was to keep worms as pets in the classroom. Finding a worm to bring into class was delegated to my father; I was too squeamish to dig for it myself. And so, one Sunday night, there was my father, hunting through the grass in our side yard, flashlight in hand, worm hunting.
I have no doubt he did his share of grumbling while he was out in the dark, getting mud under his fingernails and a crick in his neck, all in the name of primary education.
He was probably remembering the many other times he’d “volunteered” his services—adopting the classroom gerbils during the previous summer, playing the Sultan during our dance studio’s production of Aladdin. He might have been thinking how thankless a job being a father is and hoping I’d appreciate him more when I was older. Most of all, he would have wanted to get back inside where it was warm and dry so he could put his feet up and watch some TV with my mother before bed.
He was probably thinking all of these things when the police cruiser rolled by.
The officer slowed down when he saw the suspicious-looking flashlight moving in the dark. He turned on the strobe light, made a U-turn, and pulled up at the sidewalk. My father felt a brief moment of panic. He realized what he looked like, skulking around on someone’s property in the middle of the night. Painted in the cruiser’s red and blue lights, he felt like a criminal.
The officer stepped out of the car and strolled toward my father, who was desperately trying to figure out the simplest way to explain what he was doing without embarrassing himself. Before he could say anything, the officer spoke.
“Looking for worms?”
Apparently fathers all over the neighbourhood were out worm hunting that night.
I hope their children are as grateful for their dads as I am for mine.
Mississauga, Ontario