Cicadas

 

I love my big brother. I really like him too. It was just the two of us growing up and if we ever got into trouble, it was usually because I talked him into doing something we weren’t supposed to do. He’s a good guy with very few bad habits. He’s never smoked, drank or even said a cuss word. It was wonderful growing up with him but also hard because of his “always do the right thing” ideology. He set a high standard for a younger sibling to try to follow. I’m not sure, in my 62 years of life, that I can think of a single time when I’ve ever outshone my brother in general overall goodness. My brother is funny too. He’s a great storyteller and uses social media weekly to share random thoughts that are often self deprecating and humorous. Last week he shared about the emergence of the cicada and how it has served as a catalyst to his coming close to saying his first bad word. This particular random thought went something like this: “As I’ve worked my mowing business these past 2-3 weeks, I’ve slapped, swatted, mashed, squashed and stomped hundreds of cicadas as they are insanely attracted to my mower, weed eater and blower. The red-eyed buggers have crawled down my shirt, my pant legs and into my shoes. They’ve landed on my lips, my neck, my ears and my nose—- and so YES; when the next one attacks my face as I’m mowing the next yard I will finally cuss for the first time ever!” There was a bit more to his rant but I’ll interrupt to point out that while William was smashing, swatting and squashing cicadas, I was at Falls Lake, in North Carolina, wading in the water to rescue hoards of the insects who unwittingly had fallen into the lake after emerging. I couldn’t stand the thought that these mysterious creatures that don’t harm anything and wait underground for 13 years, hoping to enjoy one month of flying and singing, weren’t going to get their day in the sun. So did I outshine my brother with goodness for the first time ever this week? I think the cicadas might think so!