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| A sample from "How You See Anything
is How You See Everything" |
| The Bird in the Barn |
"I don't know how much longer I can do
this," the boy thought, scrubbing away an unwanted tear and kicking a
pebble halfheartedly ahead of him. "I've been sitting on the bench all
season. It isn't fair. I need the practice and the coach just doesn't like me
So what if I can't hit the ball or throw it as far as the other guys?
I'm the fastest runner on the team." He kicked the pebble again, sending
it skittering into the tall grass at the side of the road. "Guess being
the fastest doesn't count for anything it I can't hit the ball. I've tried as
hard as I can," he thought sadly, brushing away another tear. It was bad
enough that he was going to disappoint his father. He didn't want to be a baby
too.
Early every morning, while the rest of the family slept, his father took the
metal lunch box his wife had packed the night before and slipped silently out
the door to catch the bus to work. By the time he got back home at night, his
son had finished his homework and was nearly ready for bed. The boy loved his
father as much as he hated their evening conversations. "How was baseball
today?" he'd ask. "Okay." "Hit any home runs?"
"Not today, Dad." "Keep trying, son. You need to keep on
trying." "I will Dad, I will."
A gust of wind touched the troubled boy's face. He lifted his head and eased
himself into a trot. Picking up the pace, he started to run. He ran without
thinking and without realizing that he had passed the outskirts of the town. He
ran until he saw a weathered, old barn just ahead of him then slowed to catch
his breath. The rusty, red pump standing off to one side reminded the boy of
his thirst.
"Excuse me, sir," he said, speaking to the farmer who seemed to have
come from nowhere. "May I have some water?"
The farmer nodded. "Looks like you need to sit down and rest a
spell," he drawled, motioning the boy into the coolness of the barn and
offering him a seat on a fresh cut bale of hay.
"It's a nice barn sir," the boy said.
"It'll do," the man replied simply. He wasn't much for conversation.
The boy looked in amazement at the old barn's wide plank floors and hand-pegged
wooden rafters. It was like stepping back in time. The farmer followed his
gaze. "Hasn't changed much, 'cept now we have 'lectricity. Yup," he
said, as thought he was speaking to himself, "My grandpa milked his cows
in here by lantern light." The boy was quiet.
"Looks like you're running away from somethin'" the farmer guessed,
pulling a blade of hay from the bale and placing the end in his mouth.
The boy slumped down in his seat and rested his head in his hands. "I'm no
good at baseball," he confessed. "My dad is going to be so
disappointed. I keep trying, but I just can't do it. Guess I'll never amount to
anything." He sighed
Before the farmer had a chance to respond, the silence was broken by the sound
of crashing overhead. "What's that?" asked the boy, looking up. For
the first time he noticed a small cobweb-covered window lighting the corner of
the loft.
"Happens all the time," the farmer replied matter-of-factly.
"What happens?" asked the boy, looking harder toward the window.
"Every summer birds come into the barn to roost. Most of 'em fly away
after a spell, but a few always fly up to the loft then try to get out that
there window."
"But the window is closed," the boy said incredulously.'
"Yup," answered the farmer. "I never could quite figure it out.
Guess they think it's the only way to get out. Seems like the harder they try,
the more scared they git."
"What happens then?" the boy asked.
"Mostly they try till they can't try any longer. Some of them actually
kill themselves on the glass. The rest of 'em just quit and lie there till they
die. If I'm here when it happens, I always go up to rescue 'em," he said,
motioning to the tall, thin ladder leading to the loft.
"I'll do it, sir," the boy said, hurrying to the ladder.
There on the loft's dusty floor lay a frightened heap of feathers. The boy
walked slowly toward the little bird, and cupping it gently in his hands,
carried it down the ladder and released it. He watched in silence as the tiny
creature gradually recovered itself and flew slowly out of sight. "He
tried so hard to get out through that window," the boy said, shaking his
head sadly. "He never even noticed this huge, wide open door."
The farmer walked out of the barn, hesitated for a minute, then laid his hand
on the boy's thin shoulder. "We always have other choices, son," he
said quietly. "Sometimes we just need to look beyond our fear to see
'em."
"Maybe I'll amount to something after all," the boy answered softly,
remembering the joy he felt in running. He set off down the road and the farmer
watched until he disappeared from sight. "Yup," he said, hitching up
his overalls and heading back into the barn. "Maybe he will."
|
The more willingly we look for
alternatives,
the less we find to fear. |
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