Like many baby boomer children of the 1960's, I was smitten by Mattel Toys and their TV commercials. Back in the fourth grade or so (around 1964-65 for me), I was particularly smitten by Mattel's "Thingmaker." This electrical device resembling a square hotplate was designed to reach extreme temperatures while containing metal molds of assorted insects and worms. The idea was to place a sticky liquid substance called, “Plastigoop” that was cleverly bottled, and marketed to easily influenced boys like me, into the molds. After cooking for a few minutes, delightful plastic bugs called, "creepy crawlers" emerged. Combining science, making a mess, potential danger, and the prospect of scaring every girl on the school bus with a phenomenal assortment of creepy crawlers made this device the stuff of things a boy dreams about—at least this boy and in those days.
Every visit to our local Rutherford's Nickel and Dime Store (yes you could actually buy a number of items that appealed to a boy my age for five or ten cents in those days)found me drawn to the toy aisle and a plea to my mother, "Please, please buy me a Thingmaker! I'll be a good boy, get good grades, and I would never think of scaring my sisters with those Creepy Crawlers!"
But my mother met my pleas with passive intellectual resistance. She focused on the economic improbability of wasting the family's valuable resources on a plastic bug maker that could double as a device to inflict 3rd degree burns on my extremities, or my sisters for that matter. Besides, we had real bugs in abundance down on the farm, why pay for imitations when I had easy access to originals?
So imagine my delight when I discovered a large wrapped box under the Christmas tree, exactly the same size and weight as the Thingmaker from Rutherford's, with my name on it. But like many promises made by TV commercials, the Thingmaker left much to be desired. The bugs could fool and scare my sisters in the dark, but in the light of day they just looked like pitiful imitations of the real thing.
And once the novelty wore off, I was rather unimpressed myself. My own economic sensibilities required serious choices to be made. Spending my allowance on Plastigoop, when there were candy bars, soda pop, Duncan Yo-Yo’s, and baseball card bubble gum available, did not make sense. Ultimately, the Thingmaker and bottles of Plastigoop found themselves progressively marginalized in my maturing mind. Consequently, as a wiser and more sophisticated fifth grader, they were moved to a back corner of my closet, then the garage, and finally given to an uninitiated nephew who might appreciate the prospect of scaring a sister or two.
Sometimes things appear more valuable on the surface than may be revealed through careful inspection and a deeper look. My experience with the Thingmaker and creepy crawlers served as a good example early on in my life. Over time, you learn to discern objects that are truly valuable, and it often takes more than a casual glance or fleeting moment to do so. Because sometimes persons, places, and things prove to be much more appreciated, even cherished, over time than they do at a first look.
Buckminster Fuller rightly observed that, "There is nothing in a caterpillar that tells you it's going to be a butterfly." While Dr. Fuller was certainly not a theologian, he had a knack for seeing things others might miss. We can become so focused on looking at what is there, that we fail to see what is not there, or simply disregard it if what we observe is not what we are looking for at the moment. What do you see when you observe a caterpillar? Nothing more than a humble fuzzy worm—a creepy crawler. You certainly don’t see an elegant butterfly. But over time you learn to observe the potential beautiful butterfly residing inside the banished bug.
With age and wisdom comes the ability to take another look beyond the obvious conclusions from a casual glance. Caterpillars can look clumsy, ugly, and even frightening. After all, not too many humans are attracted to fuzzy worms, nor would they welcome them into their home. If you discovered one in your house, what would you do? If you aren’t creeped out by creepy crawlers, you might pick it up and throw it out the door. If it freaked you out, you'd probably call an exterminator or look for a can of Raid.
But what if the uninvited visitor to your home was a gorgeous butterfly? You'd not be frightened by the creature, but amazed at its colorful design, beauty and graceful motions, even while trapped inside the walls of your home. Rather than look for a can of insecticide, you would perhaps try to find an appropriately called “butterfly net” to capture the frightened creature so it could be released unharmed and outside into its natural environment.
Like it or not, we all have a tendency from time to time to exhibit creepy crawler tendencies. Although unintended, we may simply put people off by our behaviors or appearance. Others may look right past us because they do not see the latent potential, the possibility of future greatness, or the exquisite joy of enduring affection that one person may bring into the life of another through delightful interchanges over time. All of that is missed when we judge only by outward appearances or casual observation. After all, the skillset and potential asset of a novice or apprentice is often nothing at all comparable to the competency gained over time.
A few years ago Jodi and I enjoyed a visit to Springfield, Illinois. There we toured Abraham Lincoln’s home, the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library, and the old Illinois State House where a young Lincoln tested his political mettle. Being a lover of history, and all things having to do with Lincoln, the visit was a dream come true and I savored every moment. But I came away from my visit with one lingering memory—and it did not specifically center on Lincoln, but rather on the General who would become his leading man during the Civil War, a war hero who also made his way to the White House.
Under a stairway in the old Illinois State Capital I observed a small desk with a plaque indicating the desk had once been occupied by Ulysses S. Grant, who served as an assistant in the Illinois Adjutant-General's office. The man who would lead the Union Army to victory and later become President of the United States of America was occupying that humble spot under a staircase as his office, doing clerical and administrative work prior to Lincoln’s call for more troops in July of 1862, at which time Grant re-enlisted. The rest is history. The man who was sitting at a desk, hidden away under the stairs, would within a few years occupy the most famous office in the world. Grant was a caterpillar, who proved a capable leader and spread his wings during a period of our nation’s greatest conflict.
I went away from that visit to Springfield with a new appreciation for Lincoln, and also for Grant, because I saw firsthand the cocoon from which two great leaders emerged. Lincoln, toiling away in a law office and as a provincial politician with more political losses than wins under his belt. And Grant who toiled under a staircase, out of public view, humbly serving and honing his leadership skills until the moment came for those skills to be tested. Divine destiny can direct the path of a leader so that obscurity intersects with opportunity, granting the chance to make the world a better place by using the gifts and skills honed and forged in the either the furnace of affliction or anonymous arena, or both. The resulting character provides a solid framework and foundation to lead and build.
So the next time you see a creepy crawler, remember it could over time become a lovely and graceful butterfly. And the next time you see someone toiling in an obscure clerical position, you might be observing a future leader of the free world. In either case, the transformation is amazing and it doesn’t take a Thingmaker to make it happen.
©2012 Don Detrick
