During my senior year, our biology teacher instructed us to pick any wild creature inhabiting the Mississippi Delta, read up on it, and write an essay about our findings. I chose starlings.
I learned that the current starling population in the United States started with a mere one hundred birds imported a little over a century ago.
One reason they thrive is that they are omnivorous, feasting on whatever is available that provides nourishment. Another reason is that they are highly intelligent, and can mimic many creatures, including humans. To test this ability, I captured a starling. The bird never learned to talk, but he played a key role in a lesson I have never forgotten.
Miss Sterling substituted a few weeks when our mathematics teacher became ill. She had darting eyes that flashed at us from a severe, no-nonsense face, and her dominating nature intimidated us.
My cruel prank did far more than intimidate her. Noticing she always placed her grade book in the desk’s top drawer after roll call, I slipped into the classroom early one Friday morning and put my starling in the drawer. When she opened it, the bird escaped through an open window, but not before fluttering straight into her face. Instantly, terror supplanted severity, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she slumped to the floor, cadaverously white and unconscious.
The following week our regular teacher returned, and so did Miss Sterling … just long enough to tell Dr. Hall, our principal, that she would no longer be available to substitute, and that the starling prank couldn’t have been crueler, given the fact the she was terrified of birds.
When Dr. Hall called me into his office, I noticed my starling essay lying atop his desk. Instead of calling me a liar when I denied having anything to do with the prank, he marched me out to his car. I begged him not to suspend me — especially during my senior year, for something I didn’t do.
“If you’re telling me the truth, you won’t mind telling Miss Sterling the truth also,” he said, and kept driving.
“This young man denies putting the starling in your desk, and I have no reason not to believe him,” Dr. Hall said, as we sat in her living room. “Now I want him to tell you the truth also.”
I sensed pity, not anger, in those darting eyes. She knew a fierce battle was raging inside me — a battle between truth and falsehood … courage and cowardice. Truth and courage won.
“Miss Sterling, please forgive me. If I had known how much birds terrify you….” She hugged me as the sobs started.
Dedicated educators are immortal. Their students never forget them … or the lessons they teach: lessons essential for leading decent, honorable, productive lives. Dr. Hall was, and is, that kind of educator.
I’ll never forget him, nor the lesson he taught me when I told the truth about the starling and Miss Sterling.
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
