Sharon Trotter-Martin: Frank, nee Snapper, lives on
19.05.12
In 1981, when I was in fifth grade, I knew one thing with great certainty: I wanted — ne, needed — a turtle.
It is hard for me to recall the reasons for this longing. Turtles are not exactly warm and fuzzy. They do not bestow one with affection. Turtles are not even particularly entertaining. They sit on rocks. They swim. They sit on rocks again. They do not do tricks.
And yet, a turtle.
Finally, my parents conceded. Surely, they reasoned, one of these small reptiles would not prove to be a great burden. I had already made my way through a series of goldfish, prizes from my elementary school’s annual “Fun Fair” that rarely survived more than a few weeks, though “Goldie II” did manage to stick around for nearly a year.
A turtle may live longer than the goldfish, my parents assumed, but not much. There were, of course, tales of great tortoises living to be over 100, but those were enormous, ancient sea creatures. This was a shopping mall turtle.
Source: Galesburg Register-Mail
