How The Firefly Got Its Blink

For Mom.

When my Mother was a little girl, there were
no fireflies, or lightning bugs as some people
call them. On warm, Summer days, she and
her friends would head down to the local park
and try to catch grasshoppers.

Grandma would call Mother in for dinner
and Mother would bolt down her food and
hurry back to the grasshopper hunt. After what
seemed like only a few minutes to my Mother,
Grandma would call out, "Come on in! It's
getting dark!"

"Aww! Please no, Mama!" Mother would
holler back. "We haven't even caught any
grasshoppers yet!"

But Grandma would respond, "It's no
wonder you haven't caught any grasshoppers.
It's too dark to see them." Mother would look
around and notice that the sun had, in fact,
sunk down behind the city buildings and that
either the grasshoppers had all gone to bed
or there was no longer enough light by which
to see them. Head hanging low, wishing she
could stay out longer, Mother would walk
slowly home and go to bed.

Once in bed, Mother would look out the
window and wish that the sun never set, that it
would always be light.

"What good are you?" she would demand of
the moon. "You don't make enough light to
see anything worth seeing." Then she would
fall asleep, wishing the moon were the sun,
so she could play outside all night long.

And every night, just as Mother fell asleep,
the moon would wink at her and smile.

When my Mother was a little girl, there were
these little black beetles with dark orange
heads. Oh, they had a name, but it was a long
scientific name used only by entomologists,
who are people that study insects. My Mother
didn't know what they were called and neither
did Grandma. Every now and then, on the way
home from the grasshopper hunt, one of
these little black and orange beetles would fly
over to Mother and land on her arm or leg or,
sometimes even, her face. Mother, who was
never afraid of bugs, would brush it off and yell
at it.

"Stupid bug! Get off my leg," she would yell.
And the little black and orange beetle would fly
away.

Where would the beetle go? Mother never
knew nor cared.

But I know. It would fly over to its Mother,
another little black and orange beetle. The two
of them would talk, sadly.

"No one wants to play with me," complained
the little black and orange beetle. "I keep trying
and trying to get one of the children to chase
me or play with me, but they only want to
chase grasshoppers."

The Mother black and orange beetle would
explain, "Grasshoppers can hop. Just when a
child is about to catch one, they hop away."

"We don't do that. We're easy to catch," said
the little beetle, not understanding.

"Children don't want bugs to be easy to
catch," the Mother beetle further explained.
"They want fun. They want a challenge. Easy to
catch is not a challenge. Easy to catch is not
fun."

The little beetle thought he understood. So
the next day, he found the children playing in
the park and he flew near Mother's face.
Mother swatted her hand at the little beetle
and nearly hit him. The little beetle flew away
from Mother, expecting that she would chase
him. She did not.

So the little beetle tried again. He flew right
in front of Mother's face and as soon as he
saw Mother looking at him, he flew away.
Once again, Mother did not chase him.

The third time, he hovered right in front of
Mother's nose and waited for her to try to catch
him. But instead, Mother turned away and said
to her friends, "Let's go home. There are too
many stupid bugs here today." And the
children went inside Mother's apartment to
play Monopoly.

"I don't understand," said the little beetle to
his Mother. "Why wouldn't that girl play with
me?"

The Mother beetle patiently explained, "We
don't do anything that children think is fun. We
just fly around. And we're not even fast. Flies
are fast. Hornets are fast. We're slow. Why
would anyone want to try to catch a slow bug?
It'd be too easy and, as I said last time, easy is
no fun."

"It's not fair!" hollered the little beetle. "Why
can't we fly faster or hop? Other insects can."

"That," said the Mother beetle, "I cannot tell
you. Maybe you should go ask the BugMaker."

"I will," declared the little beetle.

When my Mother was a little girl, you could
still talk to the Makers. The Makers were, as
their name describes, in charge of making all
the animals and plants and minerals of the
world. If the world needed something new,
one of the Makers would make it.

There was a TreeMaker, a PlantMaker, a
FlowerMaker, a RockMaker, a PeopleMaker
and all sorts of other Makers. And, anytime you
had a question about why you were here or
why other things were here, you could ask one
of the Makers. You just had to know where to
look.

So the little black and orange beetle went to
see the BugMaker. He flew up the tree to
where the BugMaker lived and waited by the
BugMaker's door, which was really just a large
oak leaf. The little beetle softly rustled the leaf
and inquired politely, "BugMaker? Are you in?"

An old woman insect's voice came gently
from inside, more like the sound of the wind
than the click of a beetle. "Yes. I am here.
What sort of bug are you?" The BugMaker
always asked what sort of bug was at the
door, because she always came out looking
just like that type of bug, only bigger.

The little beetle answered sadly, "A stupid,
little, slow-flying, no-hopping, black and
orange beetle."

The BugMaker came through the leaf door
looking just like the little black and orange
beetle (only bigger.) She chuckled softly and
gave the little black and orange beetle a look
that made him feel anything but stupid. Her
look made him feel warm and loved as only
the BugMaker could make an insect feel.

"What brings you here, today?" gently asked
the BugMaker.

The little black and orange beetle
responded firmly, "I want to hop like a
grasshopper." Then, thinking he might have
been rude, quickly added, "Please?"

The BugMaker was confused. "But
grasshoppers hop," she explained.

"That's what my Mom says," said the beetle.

"Your Mom is very wise," said the BugMaker.

"Then make me fly faster like a fly or a
hornet," tried the black and orange beetle.
Again, he quickly added, "Please?"

"But flies and hornets fly faster," explained
the BugMaker. "That's what they do."

The black and orange beetle sighed. "Mom
says that, too." Then the little black and orange
beetle had an idea. He realized that children
liked to chase butterflies as well as
grasshoppers.

"I know! I know!" he offered excitedly. "Give
me beautiful multi-colored wings like
butterflies have!" He spun around, imaging
what it would be like to have such beautiful
wings. When he spun back to look at the
BugMaker, he knew that his idea was not very
good at all. In fact, this time he supplied the
answer himself. In a voice that sounded
somewhat like his Mom's and somewhat like
the BugMaker's he said, "But butterflies have
big, beautiful wings."

The BugMaker smiled and nodded at him.

"It's not fair!" the little black and orange
beetle complained. "Grasshoppers and flies
and hornets and butterflies got all the good
bug stuff and all I got was this orange head!"
The black and orange beetle glared at the
BugMaker and challenged, "What good is an
orange head for playing with children?"

The little black and orange beetle knew he
had gone too far. You do not accuse the
BugMaker of giving you a bad gift, but he was
not going to take it back or apologize. He had
said it. He had meant it. He also expected to
be punished, or at least lectured, for it.

But instead, the BugMaker smiled sweetly at
the little black and orange beetle and said
softly, "So that's why you came here. You want
to play with children." She reached out and
ruffled his antennae gently. "That's a very, very
nice reason to come to see me." She smiled
once again, ruffled his antennae a second
time, and looked up at the sky.

The little black and orange beetle looked up
into the sky as well, but all he saw up there
was the moon, which made him realize that it
was getting late and that he had better get
home soon before his Mom missed him. He
flew off in a hurry. He hurried away so quickly
(for a not-so-fast-flying black and orange
beetle, that is) he did not see the BugMaker
wink at the Moon. Or the moon wink back.

When my Mother was a little girl, they had
flashlights, but not plastic ones or ones that
blinked on and off. All the flashlights were
made of metal, which dented very easily. Also,
not everybody had flashlights. Usually, only
emergency people like policemen and
firemen had them. Why am I telling you this?
Because on my Mother's birthday, Grandma
gave her a flashlight, which, as you now know,
was a very special gift in those days.

"Oh, thank you Mama!" Mother exclaimed.
"Thank you, thank you!"

Grandma explained the flashlight gift
patiently, "This is so you can chase
grasshoppers after it gets a little dark, but not
very dark because you still have a bedtime
and you still can't forget you live in a city."

"Oh, don't worry, Mama," said Mother. "I'll still
come when you call me." And with that she ran
out of the house and to the park, determined
to catch grasshoppers with her new flashlight,
even though it was still hours before it would
get dark.

Mother loved her flashlight and every night
that Summer, Mother and her friends would
run to the park after dinner and catch
grasshoppers. Or at least they would try to
catch them. Even with a flashlight, catching
grasshoppers at night is no easy task.

One night, the little orange beetle saw
Mother running through the park holding her
flashlight.

'Now that is something!' thought the little
orange beetle. 'A light a child can carry
around.' The little orange beetle decided that
he needed to get a closer look at this light. He
flew over to Mother.

Mother saw him and, as she always did,
yelled, "Get away from me, you stupid, little
bug!" To make her point, she swatted at the
little orange and black beetle with her
flashlight. She missed and the flashlight flew
out of her hand. As soon as it hit the ground,
the flashlight went out. At that same moment,
the moon, which had been unusually bright
that evening, hid behind some clouds and the
park was plunged into total darkness.

Mother looked around for her flashlight, but
she could barely see her hands in front of her
face, let alone a flashlight hidden in the grass.
She searched and searched, even dropping
down to her knees to feel her hands around in
the grass, but she found only a few sticks and
an empty soda bottle. Soon Grandma called
her in to bed. Reluctantly, Mother plodded
home without her flashlight.

The next morning Mother ran to the park and
found her flashlight. It now had a small dent
on one side, but otherwise it looked fine. She
flicked the 'on' switch and, to her glee, the light
went on. But then it went off again. Mother
shook the flashlight and the light, once again,
went on. But it didn't stay on. Even though
Mother changed the batteries, the flashlight no
longer gave off a strong, constant beam of
light. It would flicker on for a second and then,
as quickly, go out.

That night, Mother put the flashlight on top of
her bureau and, sadly, went to bed. She was
very tired and very upset. She looked up at the
moon and made a wish. Well, it was really
three wishes. But none of them came out
quite right and they were all lumped together
into one. She meant to wish that, one, her
flashlight would work again and stop blinking
off, two, the moon would be brighter so she
could catch more grasshoppers, and, three,
all those orange and black bugs would go
away. But what came out of her mouth, what
she really wished, sounded like this:
"Flashlight... work... blinking... moon...
brighter... stupid little black and orange bugs."

No sooner had the words left her mouth
than she fell asleep. The moon winked at her
and smiled.

When my Mother was a little girl, they used
to believe that leaving windows open at night
was bad for you. So Grandma would always
make sure to close the window in Mother's
room and tell Mother that she should not open
the window until the morning. While Mother
usually obeyed Grandma, sometimes she got
so hot at night she couldn't help but open her
window. This was one of those very hot nights
and Mother, half-awakened by the heat,
opened her window to let in a cooling breeze.
She also let in the little black and orange
beetle, which still wanted a closer look at the
flashlight.

The flashlight was easy to spot. It was
sitting right on top of Mother's bureau and was
illuminated so brightly by the moon you would
think the moon were shining one of its
moonbeams right at it. The little orange and
black beetle landed next to the flashlight. He
was surprised that it was so ordinary looking
for something that made light come out of one
end. To the little orange and black beetle, the
flashlight looked just like a long, silver can
with a piece of glass at one end, as well as a
dent on one side. Then the little beetle noticed
the 'on' switch. He pushed at the switch, but it
was too hard for him to move. It was nearly as
big as he was. He tried harder, but still he
could not budge the switch. He was
determined. Flying as fast as he could, which
isn't very fast as we all know, he zipped
towards the switch and landed right on it. The
switch moved.

The flashlight flickered, sending its
somewhat dim beam across the room and
onto the wall. The little black and orange
beetle was very excited. He had an idea. A
good idea. And, to himself, he made a wish
that sounded very much like my Mother's wish.
(Only without the word 'stupid' in it.)

He flew out of the window and straight to the
BugMaker's tree. When he got there, the
BugMaker was sitting in front of her door,
looking very much like the little black and
orange beetle (only bigger.)

Before the little black and orange beetle
could say a word, or even properly settle
himself on the branch, the BugMaker said in
her soft, old woman voice, "I think it is a lovely
wish."

The black and orange beetle thought the
BugMaker was talking to someone else, since
he hadn't yet said anything. He looked around,
but he saw no one else, just he and the
BugMaker. For some reason, he looked up
into the sky and saw the moon. The moon
winked at him.

"The moon told you my wish?" he asked the
BugMaker.

The BugMaker nodded. "You made almost
the same wish as that little girl," the BugMaker
explained. "Though she may not know it."

Expectantly, the little black and orange
beetle asked, "So I get my wish?"

"You already have," said the BugMaker.

She turned around to show the little black
and orange beetle that she, in her present
appearance, could make her bottom blink like
the broken flashlight.

The little black and orange beetle jumped
off the branch and started to fly home, then he
stopped suddenly and, at the top of his tiny,
beetle-sized lungs, hollered, "Thank you,
BugMaker!"

To this day, nearly every warm, Summer
night, children hurry outside after dinner to
catch little black and orange beetles. These
beetles do not hop. They do not fly very fast.
They do not have big, beautiful wings. But they
do blink, making them fun to catch after dark.

---Epilogue---

When your Mother was a little girl, there
were small gray bugs that looked like tiny
armadillos, but when you touched them,
nothing happened. They were not yet able to
curl up into balls like pill bugs, or roly-polies
as some people call them.

One warm, Summer night, a little not-yet pill
bug was watching a group of children catching
fireflies in the back yard and he became
jealous. He wanted to play with the children,
too.

So he crawled, rather slowly I might add, to
the BugMaker and asked, politely, in his
squeaky, gruff voice, "Can you please make
me blink like a firefly?"

The BugMaker, also shaped like a tiny
armadillo bug (only bigger), looked up at the
moon and smiled before she responded.

"But fireflies blink," she explained.

The End