Wings of Confidence

“Curiosity will conquer fear even more than bravery will.” - James Stevens

I’ve always loved animals. Growing up I watched a lot of movies and TV shows that featured animals. Tarzan movies, Daktari, Wild Kingdom. When I was about seven or eight years old I looked forward to watching TV in the evening with my parents. I’d take a bath, climb into my pajamas, and then get comfortable in front of the television. On Sundays we watched The Wonderful World of Disney. I preferred anything animated but l also enjoyed the live action stuff. One time we watched a nature special. As the narrator spoke a bird of prey appeared on the screen. It was majestic. Suddenly it swooped down towards a body of water, then shot back up into the air. In its claws it held a fish. I burst into tears. My father explained that’s how it works. Cycle of life stuff. Get over it. At the time I didn’t get it. Life went on.

Some months later I found a dead bird in our front yard. Looking at the lifeless body among the brown leaves sadness washed over me. It wasn’t overwhelming or anything. But the feeling of loss and emptiness was strong. I buried the bird next to a bush underneath one of our widows. It felt like the right thing to do.

A few months later I wanted to see how things turned out. So I dug it up. That’s right. I went into the yard, found the little grave, and dug up the bird. Some bones were too fragile to recover but when I was finished I had the skull and most of the rib cage. I was fascinated by the skeleton. Especially by the skull. I couldn’t stop looking at it. It was majestic. I thought, “I have to draw this.” So that’s what I did. I also tried to label everything. When I was done I returned the bones to the grave under the window. I was so proud of the the artwork, especially of the bird skull, that I felt that I had to show someone. So I took my drawings to school for show and tell and told the story of the bird that had died in my family’s yard.

From crybaby to grave digging artist. That last part may sound a bit creepy, but it really was nothing more than the natural curiosity of an eight year old boy. That and a love of animals.

I still love animals and I still love to draw. I also love to write.

Next: A Writing Exercise