I heard my wife scream from the kitchen for me to come fast. I ran to it and there, eight feet from the open window, was a bear facing us and almost swinging from the bird feeder and the branch above, its feet akimbo, an almost mischievous look on its face. It watched us as we watched it for 4-5 minutes. Then, afraid that it might break the open window that had another bird feeder stuck to it, I cranked the window in, the bear walked over, stood up, looked at us and the feeder that was too high for it, went down on all fours and started walking away as we rushed out to see it walk across the driveway and the neighbor's lawn. I feebly whistled after it; it stopped, turned and looked back, then continued on its merry way.
My wish had been granted, shortly after the summer solstice, the first day of summer, my wife's and my anniversary, and Father's Day. It immediately felt as if my father had sent me a gift. My wife quickly sent the photos of the bear she had taken to our son and daughter.
The night before, as a Father's Day gift, my son and girlfriend had taken us out to dinner. As we sat at an outdoor courtyard under the trees of an old inn, I was asked to speak of my father. Unusually for me, I was a bit lost for words, except to say he was a wonderful father, the best I could have hoped for and how close we were. At the back of my mind, I saw a photograph I love of him pushing in a stroller the son who sat to my left when he was very young. It was taken on the street outside the inn where we were dining, right behind my back.
Shortly after the bear had come to visit us, still amazed, we went for a long walk, and when we returned, there was a video on the computer from our son to whom I had earlier sent the article about his grandfather. In January, our son had moved back to town with his girlfriend after ten years living down south. They had bought a house about a mile away near the lake and woods where we had just walked. The same bear had walked through the woods adjacent to our walk, pushed over the fence around their large yard, and was in their yard eyeing their bird feeder. My son couldn't tell if the bear was whistling because his dogs were barking too loud.
But I heard my father laughing at the message he had sent.
I recalled how his letters that I had just read and written about were like mini-short stories, akin to a father sitting beside a child's bed and telling him a goodnight tale. They always ended on an up-note, no matter how serious what preceded. He was a storyteller talking to an adult son, just as in my childhood he would tell me bed-time improvisations on the Pinocchio story, tales of lies and deceptions and bad actors. Those stories had to have an edge to them, a bit of a question mark, just as his letters are peppered with the phrase quien sabe (who knows?).
Those letters came through the mail.
The latest message came by bear. That I know.
Quien sabe?
You?
(Note: You can view every article as one long page if you sign up as an Advocate Member, or higher).
2
1
1
