Play arachnophilia6/13/2023 ![]() We happen to have many large jumping spiders in our home (I joke that they pay their rent by eating annoying bugs), all of whom are named “Nefertiti” based on the true story of a jumping spider of the same name who was sent to space! And I can’t tell you how many times we’ve watched a YouTube video called “Bea’s Bugs” in which a tiny pet jumping spider named Bea has an extremely cute “conversation” with her owner, who is telling her not to eat too many bugs or she’ll get uncomfortably full (spoiler alert: Bea gets uncomfortably full). In our family, we call black and yellow garden spiders “Mabels” based on a “Cat in the Hat” episode in which the main characters shrink down in size and meet a friendly spider named Mabel who teaches them how she builds her webs. Part of my strategy was exposing my kid to positive spider media. From everything I’d seen as an educator, a lot was in my control in molding my child’s perception of spiders. Knowing what I knew about how influential adults can be in passing on their fears and anxieties, I resolved to not raise an arachnophobic child. My arachnophilia, a profound albeit unlikely delight in spiders, deepened when I became a parent. And this is the sentiment I have strived to convey to my students. Although there is certainly a ferocity to the practice of ensnaring insects in a sticky web, immobilizing them with silk, injecting them with venom and slurping up their insides, humans count on spiders to keep insect populations in check. Spiders have a role to play as do all animals, even the ones we may find creepy or annoying. At the Hitchcock Center we teach about the value of all living things and the ways we are all connected. ![]() As an educator I have had the opportunity to reframe negative connotations of animals that children might learn in their lives by calling attention to their adaptations for survival, the role they play in their ecosystems, and when possible, the ways they interact positively with humans. Years of working with children outdoors taught me that the way I behave around kids and nature matters if I model fear, then fear is what they will learn. I may not want to touch a spider anytime soon, but objectively they are pretty fascinating. I pieced together the sheer artistry of their webs, the remarkable strength of their silk, their control of insects that annoy us, their diverse hunting strategies, the way they liquefy their prey. ![]() (And even later, in college, with my dad many miles away, I once yelled for a hall-mate to deal with a huge spider in my dorm room.) This was considered normal and acceptable in my known universe.Įventually (perhaps against the odds?) my path led me to environmental education, and that’s when my fear started to morph into a cautious appreciation of spiders. ![]() I shudder to say this now, but as a child, if I found a spider in my room, I yelled for my dad to come kill it. Among many of my friends and family, it is acceptable, even expected, to post photos on social media of spiders found in their homes with captions such as “Time to move out!” or “Should I burn the house down?” or a simple “Gross!” At least in my world, hating spiders puts you in the majority. Arachnophobia is defined by Merriam-Webster as “pathological fear or loathing of arachnids and especially spiders.” But in my experience, this fear doesn’t make you pathological, it just makes you normal.
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