Doobins and the Camel Crickets


Doobins still visits the worlds of firefighters and Thomas the Tank Engine from time to time.

But, these days, he mostly spends his fantasy life armed with a sword and shield.

For a while, although he had several quite-satisfactory swords, the only shield he had was one the size of a pack of cigarettes that he commandeered from a Lego soldier.

Although it was all he needed to defend himself, I thought that a Doobins’-size shield was in order. I cut one out of foam board and fashioned a sleeve for his arm to go through by cutting the bottom out of a plastic cup and securing it to the back with duct tape.

That night, Doobins insisted on sleeping with the shield and a sword. Stretched out on his back with the sword and shield crossed on his chest, he looked like some great warrior put to eternal rest.

Of foes, there is never any shortage. For one, Doobins’ mother and his sister, Sparkle Girl, believe that camel crickets are vile creatures. When one appears, they raise a great outcry and demand that I dispense with it. If these were snakes, it would be another matter, but I am ready to do battle with a camel cricket.

If I can, I capture it. If capture is not practical, I crush it. Having witnessed only panicked uproar before my day, Doobins, too, fled camel crickets in the early days. But, when he saw that they were mere mortals, he joined my camp and helped me pursue them.

When we capture one, he escorts me to the front door to send it into exile. When we crush one, holding it by one leg, he takes it into the bathroom, drops the remains into the toilet, flushes and watches it swirl into oblivion.

The camel crickets that we capture in the main part of the house are scouts. The camp is in the basement. They come out in force at night, and Doobins’ mother refuses to go down there after dark. That means I am the one called upon to retrieve the fresh sheets from the dryer. If I didn’t know that her distaste for camel crickets is sincere, I might wonder why I am always the one making the descent into the netherworld.

The other day, Doobins and I were playing in the living room, when his mother opened the door to the basement and cried out, “Camel crickets!”
Without a word, he raced into the Green Room (known by some as the Toy Room) and emerged seconds later with his shield on his right arm and his sword held high in his left hand.

The stairs to the basement are steep, and, at the age of 3, Doobins does not yet have the legs required to safely descend on his own.

“Kim, help me down the steps,” he said.

I went before him and held his sword hand as his carefully descended the steps one by one like some arthritic champion hobbling to face the dragon that has been terrorizing the town.

Looking below us, I could see that the camel crickets had massed in force along the concrete floor and block wall.

At the bottom of the stairs, Doobins released my hand.

“Harge!” he cried as he raised his sword and charged the enemy. This was no ancient warrior. This was a young champion just tasting his powers.

The veterans among the camel crickets quickly recognized that they were outmatched. They fled the field. The foe vanquished, Sparkle Girl and their mother came down to celebrate the victory.