The robin

05/31/2010 at 2:58 AM 10 comments

The robin paced my van for almost a full block. Side by side we traveled together, me on the radial, her on the wing. She seemed to hover just outside the driver’s side window. Was she attracted to the red paint of my minivan? Could she see her own burgundy feathers reflected there?

I stole cautious glances at her, mindful of any approaching traffic in my early morning mountain town. Mist still clung to the road and buildings, giving testament to our ‘smoky mountains’ moniker. The gray feathers of the robin’s wings glistened with moisture as she held tightly to a sturdy piece of garden twine destined to become part of her nest.

“Look, son,” I said to my five-year-old. I tapped on the glass of my window. “Look there. See the robin?”

“Whoa,” he said with evident appreciation. “That’s amazing.”

Amazing. At the beginning of this school year he would have left it at whoa. Maybe pretty. But now it’s the end of May, and he is growing faster than any of spring’s foliage. He is a big boy with big words and enough experience to realize the gift of our traveling companion.

“I need to finish my card for Mrs. Downs,” Torin says.

“Don’t rush, honey. You have plenty of time.”

Our gift for his teacher (and his sister’s teacher three years earlier) is beside me in the passenger seat. He has labored over her card, sticking his tongue out in concentration while wrestling his pencil against paper. The “w” in his teacher’s name is a long mountain range, but I will never correct him. His “love” is so big that the arms of the e stretch wide off the edge of the paper. In the middle of the card is his masterpiece: Mrs. Downs has been elevated to the rank of knight. In her right twiggy fingers she holds a shield, in her left is an erasable marker.

She will understand the magnitude of her portrait and the too big love.

I look to the robin again, unable to believe how long she has allowed us to watch her. At that moment she glances toward me, pumps her wings once, twice, and wheels away from us. It is time for her to return to her labor of nest-building, of home-making.

I feel blessed to have shared my morning with her. I wonder, too, if we share more. In her future lies the clamor of hungry mouths, the exhaustion of constant vigilance, and the joy of watching her hatchlings grow strong in her care. Will she marvel at their naked frailty when they arrive? Will she note each adult feather as it appears? And, when they finally try their wings for the first time, will she feel the same fierce pride and resignation, knowing they are mastering all the skills they will need to one day leave her nest behind?

I park for the last time in the preschool lot. Behind me, Torin unbuckles like a pro, already hooting helloes to the little girl climbing out of the backseat of the car next to us. I grab his teacher’s gift and glance around the parking lot to look for other vehicles.

“Be careful,” I say to my son. “Stay close to me.”

“I’m OK, mom.” He shrugs on his red backpack and we walk, hand in hand, into the school.

* * *

Visit www.AngelaDove.com for more columns and information on my book or speaking engagements.

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Entry filed under: children, Parenting. Tags: , , .

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10 Comments

  • 1. Angela Liesching  |  05/31/2010 at 3:49 AM

    So lovely!

  • 2. Kris Nyland  |  05/31/2010 at 7:12 PM

    It’s wonderful to read a story that makes you smile!

  • 3. Bill Ramsey  |  05/31/2010 at 8:02 PM

    Angela, While I am not a birder, are you sure this is a robin photo? Just sayin’
    See you this Friday at the Blue RIdge Bookfest and hope some of your fans come to see you and the other 49 authors that will be here.
    Say hello to your young man for all the grandparents (like us) that are out there watching the children grow.

  • 4. Diane  |  05/31/2010 at 10:39 PM

    That brings tears to my eyes. They grow up too darned fast!

  • 5. POO PA  |  05/31/2010 at 10:27 PM

    Enjoy him as he grows. For too soon, like the Robin’s young you elude to in your story, Torin will also flee the nest.

  • 6. write4chocolate  |  06/01/2010 at 12:30 PM

    Thanks, everyone!

  • 7. Merry Elrick  |  06/01/2010 at 12:58 PM

    Don’t you wish you could freeze dry them at this age? But they just grow up no matter what. A lovely blog, Angela.

  • 8. Sidney  |  06/02/2010 at 2:13 PM

    I hate to cry…thanks alot angela..
    You have such a gift. And the building is not the same with out our Torin.. God Bless

  • 9. Krista  |  09/28/2010 at 6:21 PM

    “I look to the robin again, unable to believe how long she has allowed us to watch her.”
    That’s my favorite sentence in the whole piece, which was exquisite. I often look at my son through the same eyes, just marvelling at how generous and merciful God is. You captured so many wonderful sentiments that mothers feel with passion and trepidation… thank you!

    • 10. write4chocolate  |  09/28/2010 at 6:35 PM

      Thanks for your kind words, Krista. Isn’t parenthood the most wonderful, vulnerable thing?


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