What They Need

Our house got a little more crowded this weekend.

Not with people.

With creatures.

For his birthday, Asher had been asking for a hermit crab.

We finally made good on that promise.

Except we didn't get him one.

We got him two.

Bernie and Bernadette.

He named them after characters from some stories he's heard, and they now live on his desk.

I've caught him more than a few times just sitting there.

Watching them.

Talking to them.

No one told him to.

No one suggested it.

He just pulls up his chair and spends time with his new little friends.

That makes me ridiculously happy.

The same trip brought an upgrade for another member of the family.

Gerald.

Jacob's leopard gecko.

Jacob has done an outstanding job taking care of Gerald.

He feeds him.

Checks on him.

Pays attention to how he's doing.

So we decided Gerald had earned some better real estate.

His old ten-gallon fish tank was replaced with a twenty-gallon reptile habitat.

More room.

A better environment.

A space designed more intentionally around what Gerald actually needs.

Setting it up was fun.

Watching Jacob afterward has been even better.

I've caught him talking to Gerald more than he used to.

And I now receive regular status reports on how Gerald is adjusting to his new home.

Apparently I am part father, part director, part student, and part recipient of leopard gecko operational updates.

I'm okay with this.

We already had plenty of life in this house.

A dog.

A cat.

Fish in two different tanks.

Now a leopard gecko.

Two hermit crabs.

And somewhere in my future, apparently, I'm building a shrimp breeding tank.

We're not finished either.

We've talked about a frog.

A snake.

Maybe a rat or mouse.

Possibly even a tarantula if I temporarily lose my mind.

We'll see.

Someone could reasonably ask why we do this.

We live surrounded by woods.

Nature isn't exactly difficult to find around here.

Walk outside and there are birds.

Squirrels.

Deer.

Frogs.

Insects.

More things crawling around after dark than I particularly care to identify.

The kids can experience nature simply by opening the door.

But there's a difference between seeing something...

And caring for it.

A hermit crab doesn't need what a leopard gecko needs.

A leopard gecko doesn't need what a fish needs.

The fish don't need what the dog needs.

Each animal has its own environment.

Its own food.

Its own behaviors.

Its own ways of telling you that something is right.

Or that something isn't.

That's what I want the kids to learn.

Not simply the names of different animals.

Not just how to keep something alive.

I want them to observe.

What happens if we change something in the habitat?

Does Gerald prefer one area over another?

Do Bernie and Bernadette like certain foods more than others?

When are they active?

Where do they hide?

What changed?

Why?

We ask the kids to guess.

To hypothesize.

Then watch.

Nothing harmful.

Nothing dangerous.

Just curiosity.

And somewhere in all of that, they're learning something much larger than animal care.

Different living things need different things in order to thrive.

That sounds obvious.

Until you think about how often we forget it with people.

Four children live in this house.

Same parents.

Same home.

Same family.

They don't need the same things either.

One needs independence.

Another needs responsibility.

One might need a quiet conversation.

Another needs somewhere for an imagination to run wild.

What helps one grow might do absolutely nothing for another.

Maybe that's what stewardship really requires.

Paying enough attention to stop asking what something should need...

And start noticing what it actually needs.

Meanwhile, Dad is on approximately the fifth draft of a Fight Club podcast script.

My anthropology work for the week is finished.

Work itself is somewhere between chaos and a strangely listless calm, where I move from fire to fire, ask questions, get answers, send emails, and wait for several things on the horizon to decide whether they're actually going to become problems.

Maybe it's the calm before the storm.

Maybe it's just Wednesday.

At this point, I'm not making predictions.

Tonight, I'll hopefully record the podcast.

I'll edit.

I'll get myself positioned pretty well heading into Thursday.

And somewhere down the hall, Asher will probably be sitting at his desk talking to Bernie and Bernadette.

Jacob will probably give me another update about Gerald.

The fish will need feeding.

The dog will want attention.

The cat will continue operating under the assumption that all of us exist primarily for her convenience.

Life will carry on.

And our house may continue getting a little stranger.

I'm okay with that.

Because every new little life gives the kids another opportunity to ask a very simple question.

What does this one need?

That's not a bad question to learn how to ask.

About animals.

Or people.

Caring about something and caring for something aren't quite the same. Caring for someone or something requires attention. You have to learn what helps them thrive, notice when something changes, and accept that what works perfectly for one may be completely wrong for another. That's true whether we're talking about pets, children, friends, coworkers, or the people we love most. Sometimes the best thing we can do is stop assuming we already know the answer and pay enough attention to ask what they actually need.

Much love.

Stay safe.

Wash your damn hands.

And I will see you, next time.