Last week I was sitting on the couch reading, when my younger daughter began elbowing me. MOMMY LOOK! MOMMMY LOOK! She was pointing to something on the back of the couch. I leaned in for a better view. It was a run-of-the-mill housefly, perched on the back of the chair. And it looked dead.
Georgia, that poor fly is dead, quit poking at it.
She was insistent. NOOO, MOMMY IT’S ALIVE. REALLY!! I figured she was just pushing on the little dead fly and wiggling it with her finger. But she wasn’t. It was alive. Never before had I witnessed a fly sitting patiently while being petted by a human, but there it was. On the back of my couch. Only after she’d picked it up and kept petting it for a while did the thing finally fly off.
Georgia & friend
I was in equal parts revolted and amazed. Here was a creature I’d always regarded as a poop-eating, garbage-dump-thriving vermin displaying what can only be described as (dare I say it?) TRUST towards my 5 yr old. It’s not like humans and flies are the best of friends. But that fly was as good as glued to Georgia’s hand. She could have smashed it licketysplit. But she didn’t.
Sometimes we are like the fly – willing to take a chance against the odds. Sometimes we are like the child – seeing a friend in the unlikeliest of creatures. Whether it was Georgia’s sticky hand — or the sweetness of her soul — that kept the fly there for so long, I’ll never know. But I’d like to think a little of both.