Mr. Cocker E. Roach
Were you aware of the fact that a cockroach can live ten days without its' head? Is that not absolutely mind-boggling? I mean, come on! Whose Idea was this I'd like to know. I have always had a great hate/fear/paranoia about roaches. We have a very special relationship, the cockroach and I, as you see, I am being stalked by these fearsome creatures. Don't laugh, I assure you, once I am done with this little essay, you might begin to wonder, and perhaps begin to understand my absolute terror when confronted by this horrid, evil insects.
Have you ever seen a roach up close? I don't think that there's any other creature on the face of the earth (although the housefly grosses me out tremendously) that by seeing even a picture of it can cause me to break out into a cold sweat. This phobia begin when I was about twelve years old. I'd always been a tom-boy, and was forever in trouble with my parents when I would return home, with bloodied nose, torn clothes, matted hair, and pretty much mud from head to toe. I was always intrigued by animals and creatures of all sorts. I would examine from top to bottom creatures that I would catch and let loose after my examinations. No animal be it large or small was safe from my ever inquisitive (and I must interject, sometimes healing) ministrations. Even centipedes were no match for me!
There came a day though when my match was found while I was digging beneath our trailerhome, while trying to find out where my rabbit had had her babies. I was bitten by a cockroach, which hardly phased me at first, I simply crushed the little bugger. But by dinner time, I became aware that there was something amiss. For the toe where the roach had bitten me had swollen to humongous proportions and was hot to the touch and hurt like the dickens. At first I was confused, having forgotten about the earlier bite, but it slowly dawned on me that this was the selfsame toe that that roach had chomped on. When I submitted the toe to my parents for their inspection, my father's response was: "That's what you get for muckin' about under the house. Ah tell you a thousand times, now you get a centipede bite! Good for you! You make ya bed, now you just gonna have to lie down in it!" And with a huff, he was off. My mother, poor old soul, tried her best to nurse my "boo-boo" but nothing she did could touch the pain that was steadily intensifying in my now horribly deformed toe. So with her promise of "If it ain't better by morning we gonna go down and see doc", I was sent off to bed. (Luckily my father had not opted to use his "kerosene" cure all!)
I barely slept a wink the whole night, as the pain was growing steadily worse, and though I was afraid to turn on the light to examine my infected digit, I could feel that the size of said extremity was growing to a heretofore unimaginable enormity. I prayed to God like I never did before, I promised all sorts of things. (There came a point that eve, when all my prayers remained unanswered that I even considered offering up my soul to the "other" party). I sat in my bed and watch dark turn to light and saw the new day arrive with a trepiditious feeling in my gut, for I just knew that this day would bring excruciating pain, as my toe was now throbbing and purple, and the size (no joke) of a grapefruit.
When my mother beheld the dreadful condition of my unfortunate digit, she just about swooned in terror. I saw the look on her face, and my angst increased tenfold. For written on her face was the absolute certainty that I had underestimated the severity of the predicament. She swiftly (I never saw Ma move that fast)loaded my up in the car and drove with a speed that Nascar would envy. We arrived at Doc's office in record speed and when Nurse Cynthia saw the offending digit, she immediately and without even cursory remark ushered me into the Doctor's examination room. "Doc, she practically shrieked, You gotta see this! This chile got a toe!" As his back was turned to us, his reply was: "Well, I sure hope she does! In fact, I hope she has ten!" (Good Ol' Doc, ever the comic). The expression on his face, however, abruptly changed from wicked glee to one of amazement when he caught sight of my toe. He looked at me with astonishment and asked: "Now Roosje, what in God's name did you do to your poor toe?"
At this point in this episode, I was beyond words...My eyes teared up and I started to cry in absolute horrified dismay. My mother explained that this was the result of an insect bite. She seemed almost hesitant to relay the exact species of the insect, but Doc persevered and finally was let in on the dirty little secret of Mr. Cocker E. Roach (her name, not mine, for the accountable creepy-crawly). Doc's amazement only seemed to increase as he vociferously proclaimed to all within hearing distance: "Hogwash! Roaches can't bite! Tell us the true story young lady, or you stand to lose your toe, as I won't know which antidote to apply, and be forewarned, the wrong mixture could cause irreparable damage!" Scared now to my very marrow, I stuttered out to Doc that indeed the offending party was a cockroach, it took much doing, but he eventually realized that my story was genuine. At this point he seemed at a total loss. He'd never before dealt with the bite of a roach, Doc was genuinely baffled and wholly at a loss as to the proper treatment of such a bite. He confessed to my mother that he had never believed that roaches could actually bite. Well, my unfortunate digit was the center of attention that day. All manner of prodding and poking commenced, and I, owner of said smarting extremity, was largely ignored. To make a long story short, my toe and I suffered severe difficulties due to that daunting bite, and it came close to amputation as the infection had begun to turn gangrenous. But suffice to say, in all respects Doc saved my poor big toe from the gallows.
This is by no means the only altercation I've had with these malevolent harbingers of plague and pestilence (in my mind anyway). There have been encounters along my travails, too numerous to mention, that have caused me to see this creature as one that is not indigenous to this planet. There is no creature more alien in form, manner or corporeal anatomy that is even close to this "thing". I am absolutely convinced that this creature comes from somewhere outside our realm, and was put here to slowly overcome the human race. I'm sure that you are aware of the fact that it is extremely, if not entirely impossible, to control the overwhelming reproduction of this alien species. They outnumber us by far, and I'm told that one day in the event of any nuclear occurrence, this revolting creature will inherit the earth.
It is thus I leave you. Look not to the stars for the alien encounter. ET? Myth, folklore. The aliens are already amongst us, in the form of the repugnant cockroach.
Have you ever seen a roach up close? I don't think that there's any other creature on the face of the earth (although the housefly grosses me out tremendously) that by seeing even a picture of it can cause me to break out into a cold sweat. This phobia begin when I was about twelve years old. I'd always been a tom-boy, and was forever in trouble with my parents when I would return home, with bloodied nose, torn clothes, matted hair, and pretty much mud from head to toe. I was always intrigued by animals and creatures of all sorts. I would examine from top to bottom creatures that I would catch and let loose after my examinations. No animal be it large or small was safe from my ever inquisitive (and I must interject, sometimes healing) ministrations. Even centipedes were no match for me!
There came a day though when my match was found while I was digging beneath our trailerhome, while trying to find out where my rabbit had had her babies. I was bitten by a cockroach, which hardly phased me at first, I simply crushed the little bugger. But by dinner time, I became aware that there was something amiss. For the toe where the roach had bitten me had swollen to humongous proportions and was hot to the touch and hurt like the dickens. At first I was confused, having forgotten about the earlier bite, but it slowly dawned on me that this was the selfsame toe that that roach had chomped on. When I submitted the toe to my parents for their inspection, my father's response was: "That's what you get for muckin' about under the house. Ah tell you a thousand times, now you get a centipede bite! Good for you! You make ya bed, now you just gonna have to lie down in it!" And with a huff, he was off. My mother, poor old soul, tried her best to nurse my "boo-boo" but nothing she did could touch the pain that was steadily intensifying in my now horribly deformed toe. So with her promise of "If it ain't better by morning we gonna go down and see doc", I was sent off to bed. (Luckily my father had not opted to use his "kerosene" cure all!)
I barely slept a wink the whole night, as the pain was growing steadily worse, and though I was afraid to turn on the light to examine my infected digit, I could feel that the size of said extremity was growing to a heretofore unimaginable enormity. I prayed to God like I never did before, I promised all sorts of things. (There came a point that eve, when all my prayers remained unanswered that I even considered offering up my soul to the "other" party). I sat in my bed and watch dark turn to light and saw the new day arrive with a trepiditious feeling in my gut, for I just knew that this day would bring excruciating pain, as my toe was now throbbing and purple, and the size (no joke) of a grapefruit.
When my mother beheld the dreadful condition of my unfortunate digit, she just about swooned in terror. I saw the look on her face, and my angst increased tenfold. For written on her face was the absolute certainty that I had underestimated the severity of the predicament. She swiftly (I never saw Ma move that fast)loaded my up in the car and drove with a speed that Nascar would envy. We arrived at Doc's office in record speed and when Nurse Cynthia saw the offending digit, she immediately and without even cursory remark ushered me into the Doctor's examination room. "Doc, she practically shrieked, You gotta see this! This chile got a toe!" As his back was turned to us, his reply was: "Well, I sure hope she does! In fact, I hope she has ten!" (Good Ol' Doc, ever the comic). The expression on his face, however, abruptly changed from wicked glee to one of amazement when he caught sight of my toe. He looked at me with astonishment and asked: "Now Roosje, what in God's name did you do to your poor toe?"
At this point in this episode, I was beyond words...My eyes teared up and I started to cry in absolute horrified dismay. My mother explained that this was the result of an insect bite. She seemed almost hesitant to relay the exact species of the insect, but Doc persevered and finally was let in on the dirty little secret of Mr. Cocker E. Roach (her name, not mine, for the accountable creepy-crawly). Doc's amazement only seemed to increase as he vociferously proclaimed to all within hearing distance: "Hogwash! Roaches can't bite! Tell us the true story young lady, or you stand to lose your toe, as I won't know which antidote to apply, and be forewarned, the wrong mixture could cause irreparable damage!" Scared now to my very marrow, I stuttered out to Doc that indeed the offending party was a cockroach, it took much doing, but he eventually realized that my story was genuine. At this point he seemed at a total loss. He'd never before dealt with the bite of a roach, Doc was genuinely baffled and wholly at a loss as to the proper treatment of such a bite. He confessed to my mother that he had never believed that roaches could actually bite. Well, my unfortunate digit was the center of attention that day. All manner of prodding and poking commenced, and I, owner of said smarting extremity, was largely ignored. To make a long story short, my toe and I suffered severe difficulties due to that daunting bite, and it came close to amputation as the infection had begun to turn gangrenous. But suffice to say, in all respects Doc saved my poor big toe from the gallows.
This is by no means the only altercation I've had with these malevolent harbingers of plague and pestilence (in my mind anyway). There have been encounters along my travails, too numerous to mention, that have caused me to see this creature as one that is not indigenous to this planet. There is no creature more alien in form, manner or corporeal anatomy that is even close to this "thing". I am absolutely convinced that this creature comes from somewhere outside our realm, and was put here to slowly overcome the human race. I'm sure that you are aware of the fact that it is extremely, if not entirely impossible, to control the overwhelming reproduction of this alien species. They outnumber us by far, and I'm told that one day in the event of any nuclear occurrence, this revolting creature will inherit the earth.
It is thus I leave you. Look not to the stars for the alien encounter. ET? Myth, folklore. The aliens are already amongst us, in the form of the repugnant cockroach.
Author's note: I do not wish in any way to give the impression that my father was an unreasonable or uncaring parent. I believe that his reactions were a defense in his inability to show his concern as is typical to the Caribbean male. Such is woman's role to play. It is an unfortunate cross that we have to bear, and albeit ofttimes grudgingly, we are bearing it.
