Jason also gets itchy ant bite blisters that freak him out. Like me he
neither knows nor cares about the difference between fire ants and
non-fire ants.
But Dakota does. As Jason stood on a bar stool shreiking "ant! Ant!".
I stomped on it with an exagerated repeated lift of the foot above my
waist (no longer easy with the achilles and back) growling "death!
Death!" Like a democrat of your conservative grandma's worst fears.
Dakota, sounding like a Budhist Monk, chastened me.
"Dad... How do you think the ant feels?"
"It feels nothing except the embrace of obvilvion"
"How do you think it felt right before you stomped?"
"I hope it felt remorse for having frightened my son, but I imagine
all that it felt was a shadow and the rush of air"
"But it never got to visit London, England, or to see the Eiffel Tower
in Paris!"
--
Sent from my mobile device
Post-Script about Eric Hewett: Once I saw a production of Titus Andronicus where Eric Hewett had a small role. In this under-appreciated Shakespearean revenge fantasy, Titus mourns the death of an innocent insect before later feeding two murdering sons to their sinister mother. Eric was pretty good.
