Sliding Down A Snake's Tail
The struggle to be good.
When I was a child, a snake was found in our backyard, in Nova Scotia, Canada. I was curious and excited to see one alive.
I was familiar with the snake in our Children’s Book of Bible Stories, where a one was coiled in a tree. The snake which led Eve to tempt Adam and got them both in trouble.
The other snakes were in my favourite board game, Snakes and Ladders.
“Snakes,” Mother said, “are nothing but the Devil’s work.”
The snake, just like the Devil, had to be beaten down. For the snake in our backyard, it meant many blows with a shovel, until its head was severed. Even then boiling water was poured over it to make sure it was dead.
After the two-and-a-half-foot snake with it’s stripes and colourful pattern was dead, my mother declared, “That’s one bit of evil gone.”
For the rest of the day, she proceeded to tell stories that her mother had told her about how snakes could charm little girls into doing their bidding. I did not believe a snake could do such a thing, but I also knew I shouldn’t question my mother.
The board game, Snakes and Ladders, seemed to reinforce the view that snakes were bad. That my mother was right.
The squares with the snakes on were the ones I tried to avoid, the ones with the images and messages of what would land me in trouble: cheating at schoolwork, having a temper tantrum and kicking over a stool, walking with my head held high. “Pride goes before a fall,” my mother reminded me.
Being a glutton would land me at the tip of the snake’s tail, sick in bed with a bellyache. Being lazy would land me out in the cold, alone, and abandoned. Fighting, stealing, and not eating my meals were all crimes that would take me down. Down the snake’s body, down, down I’d slide, to start all over again.
The rungs of the ladder took me up closer to the number one hundred. It was the goal I strived for. To be rewarded for good deeds: giving, caring, helping, sharing, saving money, being nice, always smiling, a joy to be around. These deeds enabled me to climb up slowly, rung by rung.
These deeds enabled me to receive my mother's love.
It was much easier to slip and slide down, like when I went sleigh coasting. The climb up the hill was not the part I looked forward to, but something I had to endure so I could enjoy the ride down.
But in the game of Snakes and Ladders it wasn’t the ride down that I sought, but the tedious climb up. I wondered why sliding down a snake shouldn’t be as much fun as gliding down a snow-covered hill. I wondered why it was so hard to be good.
I looked closer at these images and closer at my mother. Questioned if snakes were as evil as she wanted me to believe.
I asked my mother, “Why’d God create snakes if they’re so evil?”
“Barbara Ann, what kind of question is that?” She opened the oven door and put in a loaf of bread in. “You know, curiosity killed the cat. If you would just listen to what I tell you, you wouldn’t need to ask so many questions. Why? Why? Why? Too many whys. Too many questions. Too many for your own good. You only need to listen to what you’re told.”
I tried to believe. I tried to convince myself that the nagging little voice inside my head was wrong. I tried to continue seeing the snake as evil, but more and more I only saw a little creature, much like myself, simply trying to survive.
BARBARA CARTER is a visual artist and writer with a focus on healing from childhood trauma, alcohol addiction, and living her best authentic life.
She likes to take walks, read, watch TV dramas, and practice Qi-gong, and work on her memoir series BARBARA By The BAY. https://www.barbaracarterartist.com
