By John Butch Dale
Guest Columnist
I guess most of you know by now that I was somewhat mischievous as a youngster growing up on the farm. I was a very stubborn boy and often did not listen to my parents. Let’s just say I was an “independent thinker.”
I had to learn the hard way. And you might also recall that I loved the game of baseball. I was a pitcher. In fact, during all of those years that I played the sport, I pitched for my team in just about every game. And at home, I practiced my pitching … not just throwing a baseball, but also anything I might pick up … trying to hit objects at a distance … which leads me to this story. …
One hot summer afternoon, my brother and I were in the barn lot at the top of the hill. I was throwing rocks at a catalpa tree, trying to knock the seed pods (which looked like long green beans) from the limbs. And every once in a while, I threw rocks at sparrows that perched on the barn roof … of course, never even coming close to hitting the birds, which darted away as the rock came toward them.
Then I spotted a bird that had landed on top of a fence post down by the other barn, at the bottom of the hill … 30 to 40 yards away. I picked up a small rock and threw it at this bird, not really expecting to hit it, but just to scare it away. But to the amazement of my brother and me, the rock struck the bird and knocked it on the other side of the fence. I ran down the hill to see if it had flown away or maybe was injured.
As I crossed over the fence, I saw the bird laying on the ground. I was startled to discover it was a robin … and it was dead. I just stood there and stared at the poor bird. The robin had never done anything to me. It was not diseased or a threat to anyone. But the rock that I had thrown had ended its life. And then I wondered if perhaps it was a mother to some babies in a nest somewhere. The baby birds might now also perish because of what I had done.
As I walked up to the tool shed to grab a shovel to bury the robin, I remembered that Dad had once told me that everyone is responsible for their actions, even if the results are unintended. He had also said that everyone makes mistakes … especially kids growing up. But he emphasized that the main thing to remember is that a person must learn from their mistakes.
But I dd not sleep very well that night. When I said my prayers, I promised that I would never throw rocks at any bird again.
That fall, in my eighth grade science class, our teacher instructed us to write a report about any animal of our choosing. I decided that I would write a report about birds and I selected the blue jay, a very beautiful bird of which we had a few around our farm. I even drew and colored a picture of a blue jay for the report.
On the day I was to turn the report in, I found a blue jay feather as I walked down the lane to wait for the school bus and I taped the feather to my report. I still have that report, framed and hanging on the wall by my desk, today.
Since that summer day in 1961, I have always been especially fond of birds … all types. We have several different species here on our farm today … red tailed hawks, cardinals, blue jays, finches, barn swallows, doves, chickadees, wrens, hummingbirds and several others … including many robins. My wife and I have three bird feeders in our yard and we both love to stand by the window and watch the birds. On a few occasions, we have even seen an American bald eagle down by our creek.
But every once in a while I think about the time that I struck that robin when I was 12 years old. I feel that now, by feeding the birds today and in all of the past 60 years, that I am making up for that incident. You see, as Dad said, everyone does make mistakes, but God always gives a person a second chance … a second chance to show kindness, a second chance to prove you learned your lesson, a second chance to right a wrong that was done … and for me … a second chance to be nice and to enjoy God’s beautiful birds.
