As family Bears parties go, this one would have been considered epic even without the tiny miracle that happened, because it was the first time that my entire family could all be together on the same day.
There was my son Dave and three grandkids by him — Jack, Natalie and Olivia, all between 12 and 16 years old. And my daughter Jenny and grandkids Quentin, Evan and Johannah, all between 23 and 26 years old, with Quentin’s birthday only days away. And Johanna’s kids — my great-grandkids — Anastasia (Asia), who is three already, and Dakota, just barely a half-year old.
Epic. Every bit of my blood line, all together in the same room for a Bears party — the kind of party they all grew up with throughout their young lives. And especially epic because this was great-grandson Dakota’s first Bears party of any kind.
Epic.
When you invite the whole family over on Sunday to watch the Bears game, you expect things to get a bit messy. And that party at my house when the Bears played Detroit a couple weeks ago was no exception. The house was spotless and clean when they came in the door. Five minutes later, not so much.
If your main interest is in watching a Bears game closely, analyzing every screen pass on third and long, questioning every blitz and deep-safety coverage, then hosting a party like this is a bad way to do it. There are far too many hugs to squeeze, and skinned knees to salve, and birthday-cake faces to photograph. With all that going on, it’s hard to keep up with the play-by-play.
But that’s why God invented the Comcast recording button, so you can watch the game on Monday.
Midway through the game, though, a disaster stuck that demanded attention.
One of the girls gasped and said, “A bird just flew into the window!”
I tried to reassure her that it wasn’t big news, because it happens all the time. But this time it seemed critical, because when I walked over to take a look, the little goldfinch lay still on the ground, its tiny legs just barely twitching. Its head seemed twisted as if to look over its shoulder, and its eyes were shut.
(Photo provided)
“Look, it’s still moving a little bit,” I said. “I think it will be OK if we just leave it alone. It’s just knocked out.”
My son gave me a look that might have said: “Thanks for trying to defuse the drama.” Or maybe it said: “Why are you lying to my kid?”
“No, really,” I said. “I’ve seen it happen before. They knock themselves completely senseless, but then they slowly recover. Just leave it alone. It’ll be fine.”
He gave me another look that said: “OK, if you say so. But who’s going to spirit off the corpse when the kids aren’t looking, and then explain that the bird flew away while we turned away to watch the game?”
We all went back to snacking and chatting, and the kids went back to kicking a ball in the back yard, but about ten minutes later we heard a small cry of joy from the back yard. Asia and Olivia were bent over the little bird, which was now sitting upright. It was recovering slowly, though its head still seemed a bit twisted.
“Don’t touch it or try to help it,” I said. “He’s got to do this in his own way.”
A few minutes later the little bird leaped up and flapped its wings, but it got tangled in the ornamental grasses next to it. Wrong way, little guy.
But still we left it alone, until it found its way out of the grasses and back onto the patio bricks. It sat still again, considering its options. And then, with a leap it flew into the air, circled the lawn, and landed in the pine tree at the back of the yard. The girls squealed with delight. Asia leaped up and down, waving it a joyful farewell.
“It’s a Bears party miracle!” I cheered, glad to have such an epic event to punctuate such an epic gathering.
At last, with the party over, they all went home, and the epic task of cleaning up began.
But two days later, as I walked past the slider glass windows where the bird had bonked its bean, I noticed a string of splotches all along the inside of the glass, about two feet up from the floor.
They were Asia’s kiss marks, printed on the pane as she stood inside and wished the dazed little bird back to life.
A miracle indeed, I thought. Never doubt the power of a three-year-old’s kisses and wishes.
And I decided that the Windex could wait for another week or so. Or a month.
Or, well….
TR Kerth is the author of the book “Revenge of the Sardines.” Contact him at trkerth@yahoo.com.
