From the Present: 

If I could offer my parents some advice about how they should have raised me and my brothers, I would tell them that they should have locked us in the basement. Our contact with the outside world only contributed to our Rabble Rousing.

From kidnapping cats in lunch boxes, starting up RVs in sports arenas, destroying a neighbor’s fence to build an Indian village (Eminent Domain Bitches!), and of course, our the appetite for snakes; we was crazy.

There are two ways this story can be told. Seen from one angle, it is the story of deranged children with an appetite for snake. Seen another way, it is a story of a mother’s undying love and patience for her Rabble Rousing children.

I’ll tell this story from the loving mother’s perspective:

My mom Patti had ten children. She was the sort of mother little boys dream of having—she taught my brothers and I how to catch frogs, she took us to meadows and taught us how to collect insects. She allowed us to fill our house with pets both from the pet store, and the impromptu pets we caught in wild world.

Once me and my little brother, Tyler, attended a “Rattle Snake Round Up” in rural North Dakota (What? Yes people from New York City, we had Rattlesnake Round-ups in North Dakota. That’s what people do in places with no people, cocaine or crime. We get together and we round up rattlesnakes). At this Rattle Snake roundup, part of the agenda involved watching men in cowboy boots and mustaches skin snakes and prepare the meat, which was then breaded and consumed (and no, it did not taste like chicken, it tasted like snake, which to little boys, tasted delicious regardless of how it might actually have tasted).

My brother and I were quite taken by all we learned from the Rattle Snake Roundup. And we decided that what happens at a Rattle Snake Roundup should not stay at the Rattle Snake Roundup. Convinced we had mastered the art of capturing snakes, skinning them and preparing the meat; we began catching six-foot bull snakes, gutting them and brining the meat to our mom to cook.

Where most mothers would be horrified at a six foot chunk of snake meat prepared by children, my mom saw the eager look in our eyes. She saw how we had spent all day searching for snakes. She listened as we recounted the adventure of capturing and killing the snake. How we had diligently mimicked the lessons of the Rattle Snake Roundup. She saw that we no longer considered ourselves children, but hunter and gathers. We are men! Our young expressions boastfully exclaimed. We hunt snake and put meat on the table for family!

And so, whereas most mothers would be disgusted, my mom instead prepared a batter to bread the bull snake, which we happily consumed. It was only after the fourth snake fillet we brought my mom that she finally said, “Okay, this is great, this is wonderful, but this is the last time I am cooking snake for you. From here on out, you are going to have to learn to cook if you want to continue to eat snake.”

•  Snake Meat: Awesome.
•  Childhood: Really Awesome
•  My mom: Fricken Awesome.

From the Past:

May 12, 1996 – Age 10

Tomorrow Fred is going to leave. It was a nice visit. I have a lot to say. I skinned a few more snakes yesterday. We wen to Fort Lincoln. I just consider Jessica my friend.

P.S. Tomorrow, May 13th, is Dad and Jake’s birthday.  

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