I was only about ten years old, but I remember killing Lewis like it was yesterday. Lewis was our family’s Parakeet, and like any pet, we all considered him a member of the family. After playing most of the morning with my BB gun, shooting at almost everything until it ran out of BBs, I was called in for lunch. Lunch at our house in 1950’s was a sit down affair with the whole family present. It was a time before television, pre-packaged food, fast food or take out, and drive through windows had yet to be invented. I don’t think I actually went out to a restaurant to eat a meal until I went away to college.
But this is about the death of Lewis, not how old I am. After I finished lunch, I jumped up and got my BB gun and stood in the front hall announcing to my entire family still sitting at the table in the dining room that I was going to shoot Lewis. They could all see me clearly through the double doors between the front hall and the dining room. It was summertime and with no air conditioning the front door was open with just the screen door between me and Lewis’ cage hanging on one of the columns on our big front porch. Now, of course, I didn’t intend to kill our family’s Parakeet because the gun had no BBs left in it. But I did intend to antagonize my Grandmother, who I knew would think that I had lost my mind. And right on cue she began to holler, “Jimmy don’t.”
I raised the gun and took careful aim before slowly pulling the trigger. Everyone could tell the gun had fired, but only I could see that poor Lewis had been hit and fell instantly to the bottom of his cage. I was stunned and then devastated. I fell to the floor and began to cry uncontrollably. The whole family got up and rushed to see what had happened, to me and to Lewis. The bird was dead with a perfect BB shot right through its little head. Only my uncontrollable sorrow and my brother’s confirmation that I thought the gun was not loaded saved me from punishment, or worse, some institution for the criminally insane.
That afternoon when we were all calmed down, and had corrected the rumors in the neighborhood about me killing Lewis, the boy who was my friend and lived up the street, we buried Lewis, the Parakeet, in a matchbox in the back yard. Lewis wasn’t our family’s first Parakeet, but he was our last. We just couldn’t have enjoyed another bird in a cage after that horrible day.
Now that I’m all grown up, I have come to understand that birds probably don’t like living their lives in little cages. Scientist now think birds probably evolved from the dinosaurs. Isn’t that strange, stranger even that me announcing to my family that I was going to kill Lewis and then actually doing it.
Have you ever really thought about all the many birds you see every day? They live among us, build their nest, raise and feed their young, and find food and water every day. The migration of birds with the seasons is a miracle in itself. How do the birds stay warm when it is bitter cold outside? Birds always seem to know where to go and how to live their lives. Maybe we should pay more attend to the birds; they could teach us lots of things.
What matters most...... is the direction, purpose and meaning for our lives that we can learn from observing, not just the birds, but the whole natural world that is all around us. I believe that Nature has put the same instincts into our lives that exist in the birds, and all the other animals on the earth. What we need to do is become more aware of the world in which we live and of our own internal instincts, and then use those instincts to give our lives direction, meaning and purpose.
© 2008 #20 Jim High can be reached at P. O. Box 467, Tupelo, MS 38802-0467
A powerful story, Jim. I agonized through the first part, liked the insight you shared at the end. Great writing - you left me wrenched but then eased me to an appreciation of life.
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