My Fascination with the Biological World

“Molly Christine McMillen! What in the world is this?” My mom scorns, as she drags one of her best tupperware dishes out from under my pink, Disney princess bed. My wide, five-year-old eyes look up at her with bewilderment and fear, yet with secret pride. I do not meet my mother’s gaze; instead, my focus remains intently on the treasure I had concealed in that thick, hard plastic dish. Dark, wet mud paints the sides of the tupperware a beautiful black-brown, but the mud is not what I am interested in. It’s the worms.

At first glance, I look like the typical California girly girl. Blonde, bouncy curls frame a pale, bubbly face; bubble-gum pink fingernails decorate hands that suggest “the only dirt I touch is in my ‘Dead Sea Mud Face Mask’”; a trendy skirt, heart shaped sunglasses, and a Starbucks drink in one of the pretty, pink paws complete the stereotypical look. By all appearances, I really am that girl; but what many don’t see, is my passion for that which does not typically mix with such a—well, prissy—façade. For as long as I can remember I have had a unique fascination with insects, rodents, reptiles, and creatures of all kinds. Creepy, crawly, or cuddly, it makes no difference. If it’s alive, it captures my curiosity.

As a result of this attraction to even the creepiest living creatures, my life thus far has been a series of contradictions. At five, it was the colony of worms under my frilly, pink princess bed. At six, it was the slimy, brown toad that I found and decided to carry around in my ballerina makeup bag. At eight, it was the family of snails that I happily moved into my Barbie Dream House. At ten, it was the ant farm covered in rainbow unicorn stickers. Needless to say, despite my delicate, feminine exterior, I maintained a growing enthusiasm for the living world. Discovering the life around me, made me feel truly—alive.

Soon, my critter collection cultivated a passion for science. I grew more and more excited to learn how these creatures worked. After seventh grade Life Science class cemented my interest in the biological world, I realized I had to somehow get an even closer look at the creatures I was catching. So naturally, all that I wished for when my birthday came around that year, was my very own microscope.

While other girls who shared my outward appearance ran screaming from the daddy long legs crawling across the window sill, I was scooping it up and preparing a slide so that I could compare it to the cricket I found under the cupboard that day. While others cringed or cried at a scraped knee or nicked finger, I saw it as an opportunity to observe my very own blood cells as I had never seen them before. And, while others may have seen my experiments as peculiar, I saw them as a physical manifestation of my passion for science and my ache to uncover the secrets of the life around me.

Not surprisingly, I still have that same fascination with the biological world today. I still hold within me that child like wonder when I stare at the masterfully spun web that a spider has constructed across my bedroom window, or the delicate pupa that has been formed by an uneaten meal worm in my geckos’ cage, or the fuzzy, speckled wings of the moth that flutters around the porch light. Though I may not look like it at first, my life is a reflection of all the life I see around me—whether its walking, slithering, crawling, or otherwise.