My dad was insect enthusiast. Unfortunately, part of the enthusiasm was to catch, document and display as many couples of insects as he could in his ‘insect boxes’. I grew up surrounded by jars of all sizes containing beetles, butterflies and the sort, awaiting the inevitable ‘pin-down’.
One day (I must have been 4 or 5), I told my dad I too wanted to be an ‘insect collectioner’. As any proud dad realizing he has inspired some of his passion into his youngest child, he swiftly built a little ‘insect box’ just for me. He proudly presented me with it one day (it was an exact replica of his own, only maybe half the size) and told me that we could now share the same hobby.
I looked my dad square in the eye and told him: ‘you didn’t understand me. I want to collect LIVE insects. Not dead ones!’.
What could he say to that?
From that point on, the deck out back (and sometimes, to my mother’s horror, the kitchen counter) was lined up with various containers of all sizes in which caterpillars, crickets, praying mantis and the sort munched away at leaves, grass, and, sometimes (as I painfully realized when introducing the praying mantis in the cricket habitat) each other.
All this to say that I have witnessed the wonderful transformation of the caterpillar into butterflies, and remember too well the amazing feeling of awe and wonder as they emerged and dried their wings. None of my containers ever contained butterflies: I was always compelled to let them go.
I did end up using the box however. It filled up with the empty chrysalids 
I just wanted to thank you for allowing me to go back to these precious memories. Your story really moved me.
(I would have posted this as a comment, but the option was not available)
