Of deadly rice snakes and giant spiders

I don’t pretend to be Ward Cleaver, but if you know our family at all, you know our kids learn at a young age that humor, jokes and pranks are all part of being a Compton. Oh sure, I enjoy all that comes with raising a child, but I just also like messing with them.

Like telling them Yoda is actually just Grover from Sesame Street dressed in a costume.

“Don’t believe me? Just close your eyes and listen!”

They stop and listen, “Hey! Daddy’s right! It’s really Grover dressed up!”

I loved it when for years they’d proudly tell people, “I know that’s really just Grover in a costume.”

Then there was the time a few years ago on a trip to Idaho and back when my elderly grandfather sent us on down the road with a big tin of rice. Navigating the sharp mountain corners, I could occasionally hear the “hiss” of the rice as it shifted in the tin.

Before long one of the boys noticed the sounds and asked, “Dad, what’s that noise?”

“Where is it coming from?” I shrugged, knowing full well.

Looking over at Glenny, I said just loudly enough for the kids to hear, “You don’t suppose there’s a rice snake in there?”

The kids were silent in the back for a minute, before one of them asked, “Dad, what’s a rice snake?”

I explained, making it up as I went, that rice snakes are deadly poisonous and sometimes lay their eggs in rice. If they’re not discovered, you can end up with a bag of rice that has a snake in it.

“I doubt there’s a snake in there, but just to make sure let’s not open the lid, OK?” I told the kids.

For miles after that, every time we rounded a corner, the rice snake would hiss and the kids would get quiet. Glenny just looked at me sideways with her “you’re horrible” expression.

Back home as we started to unpack, I snuck one of the kids’ toy rubber snakes down into the rice so only the head was sticking out. Finally unpacked, the kids noticed the rice tin sitting on the kitchen floor. I had been waiting.

“Dad, are you going to check the rice?”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. I’d better do that,” I said walking over to the tin. “I doubt there’s a snake in here. But just to make sure, stand back a little guys.”

Quickly I pulled the lid off and yelled, “Oh my gosh! Snake!”

Jamming my hand into the rice, I grabbed the fake snake behind the head and yanked it out.

As the boys screamed and scattered, I poured it on.

“It bit me!” I wailed, tossing the rubber snake after them as they fled the house shrieking, scattering to the four corners of the property.

I was laughing so much it was hard to breathe.

They still remember the time we were camping in the North Cascades Park when I combined a prank with a lesson in paying attention. At the visitor’s center, there was a display with all the flora and fauna you might see in the park. Included was a very detailed version of a crab spider blown up a few hundred times for clarity, according to a small print sign underneath the “crab spider,” which the kids didn’t notice.

Spying the huge spider they instantly asked, “Dad!! Do they have those here?”

Quick on my feet I replied, “Well, of course, they do. Otherwise, why would they have it on display?”

My boys stood silently staring at it before the oldest almost got me. “No way,” he reasoned. “If they do, why haven’t we seen them?”

“Well, they’re nocturnal. They live in the treetops and usually only come down at night,” I lied.

Later that night as we sat around the campfire, I spotted my kids staring up through the dark at the towering Douglas firs.

“There’s one. You can see his eyes,” I said, pointing to a drop or two of sap glinting in the firelight high overhead.

Instantly, the boys squeezed around me.

“Is he coming down?”

“Not with us sitting here. He’ll wait until we’ve gone to bed and the fire has died down.”

After a night where none of the boys was willing to exit the tent to go to the bathroom, I was forced to take them back over to the visitor’s center and point out the little “magnified 200x” sign near the spider.

Our oldest sons are too grown up now for my tricks, but not our two youngest kids.

A year or so ago when I was foolish enough to own a cat, I asked Benjy to come down and help me scoop out the litter box. I waited for him to have his attention elsewhere and pulled out the Almond Roca I’d been hiding up my sleeve. With the candy in the palm of my hand, I stood up as if I’d just pulled the nugget out of the litter box by hand.

“EWW!!! Portia! Portia come quick! Dad is holding cat poo!” he called to his sister.

She came running and the two of them stared in wide-eyed disbelief as I sniffed the Almond Roca poo.

“Hm. It’s a fresh one, too,” I said popping it into my mouth.

They yelled and screamed so loud that Glenny thought something was wrong and came downstairs. When she saw what I was doing, she started laughing uncontrollably.

All these memories came flooding back the other day when I bought a box of Grape Nuts to sate a bizarre craving. The kids must not have noticed when I bought it, otherwise they wouldn’t have asked what I was eating when they saw my bowl of cereal.

“Dad, what is that?” they asked.

“Birdseed,” I replied. “Sometimes I get a craving.”

“Birdseed? You’re not really going to eat that, silly Daddy!”

“Sure I am. See?” I said, pouring the milk.

They just stood there with their mouths open while I took a few bites.

“Mmmmm. Want some?” Benjy actually thought about it for a second.

I look forward to watching my kids have kids of their own and seeing them pass along the Compton love of humor, jokes and pranks.

Ben Compton is a Palmer resident and publishes his column as “Compton’s Corner,” the same title used by his grandmother, Phyllis Compton, a longtime Frontiersman columnist.