As one more little pet of the family passes on, it brings me back to our first house pet, Woody, the parakeet. My daughter’s second grade teacher was Mrs. Woody, having a classroom parakeet, known for saying, “Buenos dias!”
My daughter would let Woody out of the cage, sometimes leading to an escape from her bedroom. All chaos would break lose, with yells to quickly shut all windows and doors. This accomplished, the next task would be to capture the bird. He would take flight as soon as someone was close enough to wrap his or her arms around it. It could take up to 30 minutes, with adult supervision, to protect floor lamps and precious items during these escapades.
It came time for me to return to work as a classroom teacher, a week before my three children would begin their year of school. I was very nervous about leaving them, at the tender ages of eleven, eight and five. Relatives would be in and out all day, as would be the neighbors, but I still hesitated about leaving my precious cargo behind. I knew they would be good children, but I still had one rule: Do not let Woody out of the cage while I am gone.
Mid-morning of that first day back, the secretary paged my classroom, to say I had an emergency phone call. Cell phones were in seldom use at this time, leaving me to sprint to the office phone, my heart going into my stomach, both pumping and thumping at top speed. My eight year old is on the line, sobbing. They had let Woody out of the cage, thinking I would never know about it. While running after it, the five year old stepped on the bird, as it landed on the floor. It was not moving. My eleven year old, in bare feet and eyes filled with tears, had scooped up the bird, running down the street to the vet’s office, only two blocks away.
Hearing the news, my heart and stomach slid back into place. From my end, there was not much to say, except that I was sorry. I did not have to add the line of “I told you so,” as this was apparent, told to me through the heaving sobs.
I called the vet’s office. I am seeing dollar signs in front of my eyes now, of the pet hospital’s attempt to save the $15 bird. The receptionist was kind, saying they had never taken in a bird before. However, to see this slender boy, in his shorts and bare feet, crying through his big brown eyes, and asking if they could take care of his little sister’s bird, they were going to give it a try. A vet was tending to the tiny bird at that very moment.
After I returned home from work, the children and I went to check on Woody. We walked to a back room, where a makeshift oxygen mask was covering its small beak. It was resting on the floor of a cage meant for a small, four-legged animal, as it breathed in the oxygen. This would continue through the night and through most of the next day. The children were thrilled, literally jumping up and down, big smiles on their faces. I was happy for them, but I could not help but think of what that oxygen was costing me per hour.
The veterinarian called to say Woody was fine; it was time to pick him up. What excitement there was! As he presented the bird to my eight year old’s cupped hands, the doctor turned to me, smiled, and said, “There is no charge. To see your son’s care for his little sister and the happiness they now have is enough for me.” My expression of thanks was heartfelt. The bird was fine, the vet was pleased, the children were laughing and I was ready to dance a jig.
We did leave a box of chocolates for the vet soon after. We enjoyed Woody for many more years. None of us forgot that day, nor did the children ever let the bird out of the cage if I was not home!
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
NO MORE
In a former post, I mentioned the telling of a little white lie. Now, I would like to tell you a story of honesty. One Valentine season, my three children and I were in a store I would name “Knick Knacks,” as it was full of items according to the named celebration. As always, Knick Knacks was filled with prospective customers, enjoying the unusual displays of goodies. Suddenly, there was a sound of broken glass in the back of the room. Just as suddenly, a girl, wearing glasses, her light brown hear surrounding her rosy-cheeked face, appeared in front of the cashier. She asked her, in her childhood voice, “You know that little glass heart filled with candy hearts on the back shelf?” The clerk nodded, knowing which one it was. The girl continued, “It’s no more.”
I was impressed with this young lady. I have never seen a young person, much less an older one, come forward to say he or she had broken something. I admit, I was also impressed with her use of words to explain what had happened. It still makes me laugh, as it does others, when I have shared this story.
The clerk was very nice, thanking her for letting her know. She was not to worry about it, the clerk said, as she went off to clean up the shattered glass.
What a lesson for all of us that day. Because of her honesty, I am sure many more have come forward if something gets broken. I remember going up to a clerk after one of my children knocked a tiny four-dollar porcelain angel off the shelf. On her be-half, the store had clutter everywhere, on the floor and on the shelves, making it very hard to maneuver around. However, the point being, it was still a broken item. I went forward to tell the store’s owner to say what happened. He pulled out his sales pad and charged me, plus tax.
His actions have not stopped me from being honest, though. All I have to do is hear that sweet girl’s voice saying, “It’s no more.” I heard them the day when two of my children, who never argued or fought, decided to give one another a poke right in front of a display promoting a special liquor for the holiday season. We were on the way to the pharmacy, passing the liquor department right before it. Down went the boxed bottle with two drinking glasses, the sound of shattering glass resonating. I was furious. Why, I asked, did you decide to quit being best friends at that very moment? I marched over to the cashier, embarrassed, bringing out my wallet to pay for the mess. He was most kind, telling me to put my money away. My own children did not get away with it, though. It led to a lecture. They hated one of my lectures, leaving me with the feeling this would never happen again.
They continued being best friends, never fighting, never arguing, UNTIL the next year. The moment we passed the same display in the same spot, it was as if something pulled them into a whirling pool. They wordlessly turned around, at the same time, to give a poke. This time I was ready, blocking their hands, saying, “Don’t you DARE.” We made it by, the display staying intact. I did have to give a tiny lecture. It prevented any future incidents.
Though it has been 15 years since I witnessed the exchange between the tween and a clerk, her image will always remain with me. By now, she will likely be married and have a child or two of her own. They do not know what an effect their mother had on all of us that day, making the world a better place.
I was impressed with this young lady. I have never seen a young person, much less an older one, come forward to say he or she had broken something. I admit, I was also impressed with her use of words to explain what had happened. It still makes me laugh, as it does others, when I have shared this story.
The clerk was very nice, thanking her for letting her know. She was not to worry about it, the clerk said, as she went off to clean up the shattered glass.
What a lesson for all of us that day. Because of her honesty, I am sure many more have come forward if something gets broken. I remember going up to a clerk after one of my children knocked a tiny four-dollar porcelain angel off the shelf. On her be-half, the store had clutter everywhere, on the floor and on the shelves, making it very hard to maneuver around. However, the point being, it was still a broken item. I went forward to tell the store’s owner to say what happened. He pulled out his sales pad and charged me, plus tax.
His actions have not stopped me from being honest, though. All I have to do is hear that sweet girl’s voice saying, “It’s no more.” I heard them the day when two of my children, who never argued or fought, decided to give one another a poke right in front of a display promoting a special liquor for the holiday season. We were on the way to the pharmacy, passing the liquor department right before it. Down went the boxed bottle with two drinking glasses, the sound of shattering glass resonating. I was furious. Why, I asked, did you decide to quit being best friends at that very moment? I marched over to the cashier, embarrassed, bringing out my wallet to pay for the mess. He was most kind, telling me to put my money away. My own children did not get away with it, though. It led to a lecture. They hated one of my lectures, leaving me with the feeling this would never happen again.
They continued being best friends, never fighting, never arguing, UNTIL the next year. The moment we passed the same display in the same spot, it was as if something pulled them into a whirling pool. They wordlessly turned around, at the same time, to give a poke. This time I was ready, blocking their hands, saying, “Don’t you DARE.” We made it by, the display staying intact. I did have to give a tiny lecture. It prevented any future incidents.
Though it has been 15 years since I witnessed the exchange between the tween and a clerk, her image will always remain with me. By now, she will likely be married and have a child or two of her own. They do not know what an effect their mother had on all of us that day, making the world a better place.
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