I had a conversation with my wife the other day – about how horrible kids get in their puberty. I claimed that I had never been so extreme, that I had had only a few weird ticks that were a bit off-putting, but that they were ‘not so bad’.
My puberty years, all the way up to early adolescence (and beyond), were characterized by one thing; a relentless obsession with reptiles.
For at least a decade, reptiles were the only thing I cared about. For my 10th birthday I got my first snake. Since then, I have tormented my mother begging for permission to buy every affordable species available on the market – at least once.
“Hi Mom, look at this snake. It is very interesting/beautiful/cool/whatever, can I buy it.”
I wanted to go to every reptile event and buy as many reptiles as my small income would let me. I always came up with reasons to get more. She mostly said no. Yet, the number would always somehow increase and no one could explain how. Around my 20th, when I moved out, I probably had about 150-200 snakes*.
I was an absolute horror child (but at least I didn’t do drugs).
————————————————————————————————————————–*That often included a bunch of offspring that came and went throughout the year.