By Sue Dutch
Over the summer, Mr. Miller gave our 9th grade class an assignment; collect at least 50 different types of insects, then mount each insect with a pin displaying them in a homemade case. The Latin name should appear, typed and mounted, under each insect. The due date was the end of October.
I went home and made my display case right away. I caught a June bug, a grasshopper, a spider, a horsefly, a moth and a butterfly. The next week, when my family left for vacation, I completely forgot about the assignment.
When September arrived, some students hadn’t even attempted the project. Most of the rest, like me, had done minimal work. When Mr. Miller realized we had not taken the assignment seriously, he became furious. He said there were no excuses for it and vowed each of us would get an F on our projects. The whole freshman class worried that a single F on a project would destroy our chances for college admission.
“You should have thought about that over the summer” Mr. Miller retorted.
The students pleaded: “Is there nothing we can do to make up the work? Can’t you move the deadline to December?”
“There aren’t as many types of insects in the fall compared to the summer. The collections will be too sparse.”
As the students continued to bargain, Mr. Miller looked down at the floor. When he looked back up, he gave the class an ominous smile. He offered a compromise. It made him look fair but, he believed, was impossible for us to accomplish. He agreed to extend the deadline two more weeks and would give anyone an A if a human body louse was in the collection.
I was determined to get an A on my project, but where could I find a louse? Dad told me this type of insect was known to spread typhus. That gave me an idea. I’d write to the Center for Disease Control and request a human body louse for my insect collection.
After I sent the letter, I held my breath. With just a few days to spare, a round tubular package arrived from the CDC. I tore it open.
I mounted my own louse (or should I say, Pediculus Humanus), then took the package to school. The CDC had sent me just enough lice for the entire class. I arrived early, and, in front of Mr. Miller, I repeated “And here’s an A for you!” as I presented a louse to each student. The students, in return, reacted with wide eyes and big smiles. Meanwhile, Mr. Miller glared at me. Under his breath, I think I heard him mumble “You little bitch!”
Sue Dutch has lived in the Pioneer Valley since 1981. A professor emerita of Westfield State University, she writes rhyming prose and memoir. She is an advocate for homeless companion animals and currently shares her time, space, and treasure with two of her own.