We’re a family with tribal roots. African tribes, Indian tribes…even my Anglo background reaches back to the Irish-Scots clans – just another word for tribe. Our ancestors of each variety were warriors and hunters armed with spears, bows, and weapons of iron, striking out on countless missions with the noble goal of providing for and defending their people.

Centuries later, we carry that same warrior spirit into a new generation using new methods and facing a new enemy…the scorpion.

But we don’t wield arrows and daggers. In stealth we take up our black lights and go in search of a fluorescent green glow that marks the lethal arthropods. Then our female members issue a battle cry — one part roar, two parts scream — while our men spear the tiny beasts with long, slim, pointed stakes. I break from my guttural duties long enough to spray a mist that will cover and kill any scorpion escaping the stake (though the poison will take a few days). And the sledgehammer is our failsafe backup.

The danger is ever near us, but we are ever ready. Like those who came before us, we protect our own, and we do it ferociously with the warrior spirit passed down to us.

When the hunt is over we ask God to protect us from the scorpions we didn’t find. Then we break out the family games, pop the popcorn, and brag about our feats of bravery as if we’d just manhandled a few bears. Until we hunt again…