Some disturbing news recently made headlines. Lightning bugs are on the decline. Several reasons were provided; experts cited pollution, chemical pesticides and a change of natural habitat as to why we aren’t seeing the luminescent insects as often. Scientists chimed in on what this means to our environment.
What this means to me is far more personal.
I’m losing a valuable parenting tool.
Last summer, my family and I were on vacation in Atlanta. My husband, Mike, and I took our children to dinner in the heart of the city, excited to snag a booth next to the window for optimal viewing of neighboring skyscrapers. Next comes the part of the story that is the honest truth (forgive the emphatic redundancy; it’s a family trait that appears in moments of excitement).
Earlier that day in Atlanta, I lamented the fact I hadn’t seen a lightning bug in a long time. My pre-teen kids asked, “What’s a lightning bug?”
Dumbfounded, I told them about my childhood in the country, today’s backside of our local mall. Just after dusk on most nights, my next-door friend and I rushed outside with empty mayonnaise jars to entice a few fireflies into our canisters. We’d quickly screw on the lids punctured with holes for adequate bug oxygen-intake levels. By supper time we parted company, glowing glasses in hand, giddy with our prizes.
When I headed to bed, I propped the jar on my windowsill.
Instant homemade LED camping light.
I drifted to sleep watching my glow-in-the-dark, darting polka dots.
The next day, the bugs were still buzzing around inside the jar but with a more frenetic, well, buzz. Dad walked into my room and asked me of my long-term intentions with my fluorescent friends. He asked how I’d like to be stuck in a jar on a shelf just within reach of outdoor freedom.
“But I like them,” I told him.
More the reason, he said, to let them do what they do best outside the confines of a greasy container.
My son said that reminded him of the time he tried to keep some crickets inside a box, an action modestly depleting Central Florida’s cricket population. He said we should let all living things live freely and in peace.
It was a teachable moment, an illumination of another kind.
Back at the Atlanta restaurant we were nibbling on bread rolls when my daughter let out a yelp. Outside our window, smack-dab in the middle of the Southern concrete jungle, was one very bright lightning bug twirling and leaping like a Cirque du Soleil acrobat.
My son said maybe this was the bug I released as a child.
Not likely. But I didn’t tell him that.
This very bright lightning bug, after all, proceeded to entertain us for the next few minutes with a dazzling aerobatic dance as if to say, “Hey, I’m just happy to be here no matter what the experts say!”
And we were happy to be there, too.