Last Monday, when my son opened our living room curtains, he announced that a small alligator lizard was lying on a bookcase near the window.
I dropped what I was doing and scurried over to oohh and aahh at this adorable little visitor. His scaly skin was variegated with all the earthtones of a dry desert. His winding tail was coiled beneath his quivering torso.
He was perfectly still, wedged between the frames of a family photo and my son’s high school graduation picture.
“Shall I pick him up by the tail to take him outside?” my son asked.
“His tail will come off,” I said. “Remember?”
My son, now in his thirties, was homeschooled from kindergarten through high school. He loved learning about wildlife. When he was young, he was fascinated by the vastness of God’s creation.
Like most boys, he gravitated toward sharks, bats and things that slithered. But he also possessed a sweet sensitivity for small, furry creatures, like “Sassy,” an orange tabby who spent one summer sprawled upon an old sofa we had placed on our balcony. It was always a thrill when we’d open the blinds, and Sassy would be stretched out on that stinky old couch. My son, then four years old, was content to stand at the sliding glass door and just watch the cat, preening, grooming and, to my little boy’s delight, occasionally looking back at him.
During the course of our homeschool years, we bonded over the wonder, whimsy and sometimes weirdness of all things living. It became a habit for each of us to share nature things with one another, the way you’d offer a friend a forkful of your cake. We’d share dewy, intricate spider webs or the haunting trill of a mockingbird on a late summer evening. For the last three years, the Lord has even given us a feral gray tabby to admire as she naps in our flower beds.
The one time we differed in our love of nature took place during the Covid lockdown when we experienced a small invasion of mice in our home. My son refused to let us lay down traditional mouse traps, insisting that we buy the “catch and release” variety instead. We appeased him and he happily escorted each captured rodent several blocks away where he set them free.
So, on that recent afternoon when an alligator lizard slipped under our front door and found himself stymied upon our bookcase, we had no choice but to stop and discuss ways to tenderly extradite him back to the great outdoors.
Google reminded us that lizards are known to seek out warmth, so I microwaved a small towel to place near the reptile. But the towel only caused him to back away.
Plan B involved a warmed-up toothpaste box. If we could get the box close enough, maybe our reptilian friend would take refuge inside.
No dice. The little guy backed away again.
As we regrouped and mentally rifled through old homeschool science lessons, we noticed that the lizard had repositioned himself.
In a humorously poetic twist, the lizard’s tiny front feet were now resting on the lower edge of my son’s graduation picture.
“What if you slowly tilt the frame backward?” I suggested. “He might instinctively crawl up onto the frame, and you can carry him out.”
“It’s worth a try,” replied my son, nervously biting his lip.
I opened the front door, and my son slowly inched behind the picture frame trying his best not to startle the lizard.
With tender precision, he gingerly tilted the frame backwards.
The lizard immediately crawled up onto the picture and stopped right in the middle of the graduate’s smiling face.
As my son carried the frame out, the reptile raised his head and his tiny black eyes darted upwards.
Had he matched the face he was standing on with that of his rescuer?
I believe the answer is a resounding yes.
Over the years, we’ve often allowed nature to lure us away from our everyday routines. She’s never disappointed us. We’ve traded lesson plans, housework and grocery shopping for migrating monarchs, Strawberry moons and our unforgettable lizard rescue.
I am so grateful I took the time to teach my children to truly marvel at the world around them. I don’t have worldly possessions to pass on to them, but I believe I will leave them something rare and far more precious; a legacy of wonder.
I used to catch lizards all the time growing up in Los Angeles..🦎
Your legacy is a wonderful gift. Great, captivating writing. Thank you.