We view plenty of sea birds on our dock. Smaller birds find refuge nearer the house.
They built their nest in a hanging basket on the back porch. Straw by straw, they fashioned and molded a home under the leaves of a maidenhair fern.
The whereabouts of the new dwelling went unnoticed until the youngest of occupants, offspring of the nest builders, chirped their hunger and presence.
Many was the time that Daddy lifted me skyward to view the birdies almost hidden by the green shading. The air would be still and serenity spread with the stillness. Only the shrill peeping of nested babes with scrawny necks pierced the calm.
At that moment, as I was suspended at arm’s length, parent bird came swooshing back, rattling wings, screeching his return. Frenzied patterned flights, the envy of Blue Angels, distracted us trespassers and once again, the hatchlings were safe. For the moment, they were even quiet as if in awe of parental talent. And Daddy held me safely in his arms.
Then the whole world returned to its own interests, parent bird sailed in to thwart the insatiable appetites of the young. Again and again, the scenario repeated itself all spring into summer. Only the chirping grew louder as the siblings crowded one another with normal growth.
At times, one fledgling would stretch his wing and teeter in the nest. Each time, parent dived in to tuck him back. Even as young as he was, the fledgling sensed goal; but his time had yet to come.New flight patterns were demonstrated in the vicinity of the nest. Then one perfect day warmed by the summer sun, parent bird stood on the rim of the nest not to feed nor to tuck in the offspring as in the past, but rather to nudge each chick gently into the hushed air. Each faltered, fell a little, fluttered his wings frantically. They circled the nest in staccato time. One attempted to return to the safety and security of the only home he knew, but parent bird ran interference and made him stretch his wings beyond childish expectations. And Daddy held my hand as we stood by the porch banister to watch the drama.
Too soon, they all flew away and the nest was empty. With the coming of autumn, I eagerly ran to school with the empty nest for show and tell. And from the front stoop, Daddy waved good-bye.
Now I ponder the events of that long ago summer. In one swift moment, the wise old bird turned from provider and protector to propellant. With firm gentle action of beak and wing, the bird stopped hovering and started shoving. Did the older bird have a built-in timing device as to when to nudge or did the impatience of the young strike the hour?
Whatever, for avian or man, letting go must be one of the hardest transitions in life. It is a time when it hurts to parent, when it hurts to nudge, when it hurts to see one so young falter. But the next generation must soar. Independence is his rightful destiny. And it is the one legacy we’re obligated to pass on.
1979
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