Perfect Parents

A pleasure and comedy I did not know to anticipate today was to sit on a backyard bench with my six-year-old grandson observing a pair of parent housewrens feed their young in the new house on the old dogwood trunk all covered with ivy. Pleasure because of the magic, the wonder, and the mystery such observations are to me. Comedy because the experience was none of that to Nick.

Alone on the bench I'm thinking it's a scene picturesque, sublime, edifying, enlightening, thrilling . . . any number of comparable adjectives. I want to share the moment. I call Nick to come watch with me. We sit quietly, waiting together for the next lovely instant when one or the other of the parents brings a morsel of food just right for its nestling wren. I find it comforting to hear the tiny helpless creatures cry when their parents arrive, then quiet immediately when fed, not unlike human babes in arms. I say so to Nick. He doesn't answer. I whisper, "Here she comes. Here she comes!" Sharp intake of breath. "See? She has a worm for her babies. Listen! Listen! Ahhh! Isn't that just the sweetest thing? They're perfect parents. They know exactly what their children want. Just like your mommy and daddy."

Nick jerks his head around to stare at me. He says, "Omi! They're screaming, like NUTS! They're fighting over WORMS! Are you kidding me? That is NOTHING like us."

I see his point. Some day he'll see mine. dkm