I had the chance to share a childhood story with an 8 year old. It was a story of love & loss and her response to this heartfelt tale? Laughter. In her defense it was pretty hilarious, so I have decided to share what I told her with you.
Storytime!
I have always been fold of animals, and when I was about 6 years old I asked my parents if I could have a chicken. At the time there was a big market the family would go to every weekend, and in addition to meat & produce there was often a stand with live baby chicks.
The day my parents said yes to my weekly request to raise a chicken was a grand one indeed. They handed me money and told me to take my younger brother to the stand so he and I can both have one.
Unfortunately, things hadn’t started out as great as I’d hoped.
When my brother and I arrived at the stand, we paid and were told to choose our baby chickens. I chose mine and presented it to my brother, signaling that he choose next.
We were so excited and relishing in the general cuteness. When my brother finally chose a chick and presented it to me, he smiled and took my scream as a good sign.
In his mind he must’ve thought that he made the best choice of all available choices – the one chick to rule them all.
My parents were alerted by my shriek and saw the soft downy feathers buried in a young child’s hands. The poor thing.
My mother swiftly signaled for me to shush, snatched the wrinkled baby bird out of my brother’s clutches and quickly replaced it with another chick before the stall guy noticed.
She quickly ushered us away as if nothing had happened. I glanced over my shoulder where the chicks were and that poor chick looked about as confused as I was.
I later asked my brother why he crushed that other chick. His response was, “soft”
——
After arriving home, we quickly settled our chicks into their new home. Towels were gathered, yogurt and sour cream containers converted to water and food bowls. There was a small enclosure set up in the kitchen where we could admire our new pets.
The first day was spent watching the chicks adjust to their new home and teaching my brother how to properly handle another living thing. As soon as my brother saw all that the chicks could do, he lost interest quickly. Bonus for me as that meant I had two chicks to care for now.
Every morning, before getting on the school bus I would check on my chicks.
One morning, I went through the daily rituals and prepared to lift the blanket off the enclosure to wake them up. My mother said that I was running late and shouldn’t bother them. Before I could say or do anything I was sent out the door to walk to the bus stop.
After school, I was planning on seeing the baby chicks. Soon they would grow up to be chickens and I looked forward to the prospect of them laying eggs and eventually hatch even more chicks.
I would have an army, not to mention food for my family. Success!
Those dreams were quickly dashed when I returned as the chicken enclosure was nowhere to be found. I asked my mom where my chicks were and she said without hesitation that she sent them to my grandma’s ranch. Which was in another country.
I didn’t believe her and during the next several days I kept asking her to tell me about the chicks.
She finally caved in and told me the truth. Both chicks died – which I had already suspected. Sadly, I asked her how they died and she told me that they drowned.
She then reminded me of the day when the chicks were fed oatmeal in their yogurt cup dishes and how much they had enjoyed it…6 year old me was still confused.
She went further and told me that when she got up that fateful day and went to change the newspaper lining in the enclosure, the chicks were found in the yogurt dish covered in oatmeal.
I was silent. Her story finally sunk in, like baby chickens sinking in oatmeal.
My mother looked at me, possibly mentally preparing herself on consoling me.
I started laughing uncontrollably. Those gluttonous chicks died doing what they loved best, until it got the better of them. She soon joined in my laughter – those things were so very stupid, weren’t they?
We laughed until our stomachs hurt. I cared for those chicks and I was upset that they were dead, but the circumstances of their deaths was so unexpected it became funny.
The first few experiences I had with death were somber and uncomfortable, but this particular event was the opposite. I was accepting of the fact that the chicks were no longer alive and even if I was upset that things didn’t turn out as I wanted (my glorious chicken battalion), it was okay.
Everything will be okay.
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