Boys, Snakes and Men
When I was about twelve, I had 26 snakes in captivity and about fifty lizards. The snakes were non-venomous—what we called spreading adders—pronounced “spreadin-adders." Some people who didn't know better called them hoghead snakes.
When alarmed they would rear up in a threatening manner and spread out like a cobra. It sent a scary thrill through any young boy. Conquering that fear and mastering the snakes must be part of a boy's self-imposed maturation ritual. We found no satisfaction in killing snakes, except when we discovered a poisonous one in the yard. I never had any affection for snakes, but to catch one and hold its cool, dry, wiggling, body in your hands, and then to turn it loose to slither away to its shadowy existence was a mastery of self more than of the serpent.
At the time I had my snake collection, we lived in the middle of a big city. I would go to vacant lots and dig around under boards and bricks until I uncovered a snake or lizard. On several occasions I made my way into the open drainage ditches and located pools of water where I could observe or capture these city-bound wild creatures. One time I built a big box for my collection of snakes, turtles, and lizards and placed it on the screened-in back porch. I would tend to them every morning before catching the city bus to public school.
My mother would shriek and shiver every time she got within sight of my captive creatures, but that made it all the more thrilling. Then one day I came home to find that someone had tampered with the box, and my zoo had escaped. Twenty-six snakes and a tub full of lizards had all gone somewhere. My mama wanted me to assure her that none of them had crawled into the house. When I stood there looking blank, she went into the vibratingest shivers I had ever seen. It made me feel downright superior to the female race. But when she pulled all her pieces together, she laid down the law. I don't remember what she said, but I can still remember the intent. I had no doubt discovered the limits of the female psyche.
I found several of the snakes on the back porch and around it. I took them to the nearest vacant lot and carefully and ceremoniously placed them under a pile of old carpet and rotten boards. I continued to visit them throughout the summer. Fall came. They disappeared into their hibernation holes, and the next year the lot was cleaned up and paved.
This past week, the boys and I spotted a big chicken snake slithering across the driveway. They eat rats and mice and smaller rattlesnakes and copperheads, so we don't harm them, but I thought it was time I upgraded the boy's respect for Big Papa. We jumped out of the truck and ran over to the snake. It coiled up in a threatening manner and began to strike at my boots. When I was a kid, I would tease non-venomous snakes into striking at my hand, and then when their bodies were fully extended I would grab them by the head. If you are fast with your hands, and your timing is just right, you can do it every time. I told the boys what I was about to do and then talked them through every step. I had their full attention. Several times I teased the snake into striking at my hand so I could gauge the extent of its reach. Then, when the moment was just right, my hand shot out faster than a streak of... Well, there I was trying to gain their respect with this five-foot chicken snake clamped onto my finger. I don't remember snakes being that fast. This one must have been weaned on mama rattlesnakes. He was fast! Or maybe this boy is not as fast as he was 45 years ago.
