I started walking early that morning, hoping to plan the day and practice my favorite hobby: memorizing poetry.
But I was in no mood to plan or memorize. The day before, one of my teenage daughters and I quarreled bitterly. No daughter should ever shout at her father in such a cruel, hateful way, I thought. My feelings were hurt so badly that I wished I could just disappear from the earth.
Then, just as depression’s lead overcoat could get no heavier, a quotation from Lorraine Hansberry’s play, “A Raisin In The Sun,” came to mind:
“Child, when do you think is the time to love somebody the most? When he’s done good and made things easy for everybody? That ain’t the time at all. It’s when he’s at his lowest … and can’t believe in himself because the world has whipped him so! When you start measuring somebody … measure him right … make sure you’ve taken into account … the hills and valleys he’s come through … to get to wherever he is.”
The day before, when I’d given my daughter as much money as I could spare, she demanded more. While I’d “ … done good and made things easy …” for her, she’d ignored “ … the hills and valleys …” I’d come through.
Then I heard a familiar greeting. It was the one-legged blue jay I’d named Mr. Screech, who hung out in the Baptist Church’s parking lot. When nobody was astir but him and me, Screech perched near the sidewalk and rasped raucously. After bobbing and flapping to balance on his spindly leg, he’d throw back his head, fill his throat, and chirp harshly enough to rankle the rooster Chanticleer.
While I wallowed in self-pity, Screech, to quote the poet Yeats, sang louder, “… for every tatter in his mortal dress.” His cheerful spirit brought to mind a Biblical verse: Behold, the fowls of the air; they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns. Yet your Father feeds them. Are you not much better than they?
Then I remembered more scripture: Let us not weary in well doing; in due season, we shall reap…. Screech remembered what I had forgotten: Continued kindness overcomes self-pity. A chance to be kind was a block away.
Often I had seen the old gentleman fetching the morning newspaper. Grasping the step’s handrail, he worked his way down the steps to the street, bent painfully to pick up the paper, straightened, and plodded back to his home.
Perhaps he lived alone, and perhaps had “ … done good and made things easy …” for loved ones who moved on and left him behind. I thought, I’ll make him feel the way Screech made me feel.
Putting the newspaper on the man’s porch became part of my dawn routine. One morning, I found a “smiley face” card with one word inside: Thanks!
What the old man said to me, I said to the one-legged bird: Thanks, Screech.
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.
Other books by Jimmy Reed include 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)).
