My son has always loved worms. Every summer, as soon as we walk in Mimi and Papa's house, Jack darts for the backdoor, hollering for his shovel. A few minutes later, all over the yard, there's evidence of where he's been digging. At least several times on every visit, you'll her a mother, grandmother, or aunt squeal as Jack shows off his latest find.
As for me, I'm not really a big fan of worms. About the only time these things slither through my hand is to attract fish. When I think of these critters, words like ring, hook, tape, and grub come to mind. I'm sure there was a time when I loved to find worms in the yard, but I probably had an older sister (or two) running away from me, screaming, telling me I was gross. When you grow up in a house filled with woman, hunting for wiggly critters is not high-up the entertainment list.
As I type this, I've got 1000 "red wiggler" worms shipping for my house. These are better known as "manure worms." Nice. Due to Jack's passion for these things, we're about to start composting with worms. Can't you just read the enthusiasm as I type.
Looks like the pet population in my house just went from 2 to 1002.