One day, while playing in the
backyard, I spotted a hummingbird perched in my mom’s bottlebrush. I was
surprised that he was not darting about and drinking from the flowers. I
figured he must be sick, so I gently cupped him in my hands and took him into
the house. I showed Grandma the hummingbird, and she suggested I put him in one
of her canary’s old cages. We took turns feeding him sugar water with an
eyedropper. Soon he was ready to fly, but every time when I released him, he
would fly back. I was afraid that I was not ready to take care of a hummingbird
for its entire life, so my dad suggested that I trade the hummingbird to one of
his junior high students for a baby rabbit.
Pete was about eight weeks old and satin red when my dad brought him home. Unfortunately for Pete, my dad decided to make the cage out of
two orange crates. We sawed a hole for Pete to see through and covered the hole
with chicken wire. I must admit, my dad and I thought the cage looked cool,
even if it was small. But I soon learned there was a problem with Pete’s cage:
his rabbit droppings built up quickly. Soon, my grandma started to remind me
that I needed to clean Pete’s cage. I guess the newness of having a rabbit had
worn off, while the responsibility of owning a pet had not sunk in. Grandma
warned that Pete would die if the cage were not cleaned. One sad day, after
school, Pete did not come out to play; his body lay rigid. Grandma was
right.
I suppose death is the ultimate
teacher, whose lessons cannot be forsworn. More disturbing than seeing Pete’s
lifeless body, was the absence of Pete’s frivolity. I used to enjoy watching
Pete race through the yard and jump up and kick his heels. It was pure physical
joy. Grandma
did not criticize me for not cleaning Pete’s cage, nor did she say; “I told you
so.” She knew I missed Pete and tried to comfort me by purchasing donuts from the neighborhood Helms Bakery truck. I selected a glazed donut, while grandma chose a
“maple cruller.”
Pete, Grandma, and Dad are all gone
now. I often reflect back and wonder about the efficacy of my own parenting. Did I teach my children the right lessons? Did I listen enough? Did I set a good example? I used to think I knew the answers to these questions, but now I think the answers do not belong to me, but rather my children, who will ask these same questions about their own children.
I still have rabbits, but now their cages are stacked three high in an air-conditioned garage. I make sure to honor Grandma and Pete by telling my youngest daughter about the importance of cleaning the trays at least once each week. Some fifty years later, I still enjoy hanging out with my rabbits, and every once in a while, I remember Pete and Grandma and hear a faint bell from the Helms Bakery truck.
I still have rabbits, but now their cages are stacked three high in an air-conditioned garage. I make sure to honor Grandma and Pete by telling my youngest daughter about the importance of cleaning the trays at least once each week. Some fifty years later, I still enjoy hanging out with my rabbits, and every once in a while, I remember Pete and Grandma and hear a faint bell from the Helms Bakery truck.
