Don’t Smush the Ants

As a kid I liked to wage war on tiny insects.

I went out of my way to step on the miniature homes of ant-families.

I used a magnifying glass to toast them, or water to drown them.

But my father didn’t like it.

“Don’t smush the ants.” he would say, “They worked hard to make this hill their home.”

He was always kind of a rough guy.

He worked long hours at the cement factory and would come home smelling like stale Cheerios.

“But I like smushin’ em!” I tried to reason.

“Don’t.” he said, and lumbered into our small, country home. From inside I could hear him holler, “How would you like it if a giant came and smushed our house?”

I looked down at the ant hill then up at the sky, and quickly ran inside hoping to smell stale Cheerios on my way in.