When I was a kid growing up, my grandfather lived in the woods. His driveway was shaped like an oval and inside there was an “island” with grass, some tall trees, and a big rock. I must have been about six or seven when, one summer, my sisters and I found a daddy longlegs on that rock. I had a serious arachnophobia as a child but somehow, with my sisters present, that lone, long-legged creature didn’t disturb me so much. We named him George, and he was our daddy longlegs.
We left George at my grandfather’s house when we went home that evening. As if by fate, my sisters and I found another daddy longlegs in our house within the next week. With a child’s mind and sense of wonder, I was amazed to think that George had traveled all the way from my grandfather’s woods to find us at ours. For years, every daddy longlegs that we found was named George after the first, well-traveled daddy longlegs.
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