Grandpa's Farm
I knew the meaning of freedom at the age of four. A hard lesson I learned on grandpa’s farm. He used to trap birds in a netted funnel. Well, that’s what I called it anyway. I used to sit and watch them for hours, fluttering around inside. My ears were amazed at the loud shrilling sounds they used to make. My imagination would run wild, picturing my grandpa, the great hunter of birds.
One August evening, while resting on the back porch, my grandma told me a story. A history lesson of sorts about our family. She spoke of her mom and dad, their struggles. How they fought adversities while remaining faithful to their goal - a better life for their children.
My grandma was born in Russia. At the age of 12, the family immigrated to America. She said they ‘rode the wings of freedom, like a bird soaring towards Heaven’. All night, that line ran through my head.
The call of the rooster woke me early the next morning. I made my way to the backyard, opening the barn doors. There they sat, nine birds - caged. Without hesitation, I picked up the funnel and made my way to the street. My grandparents found me 15 minutes later. It was all over at that time.
They asked me why I did it. I told them grandma’s story made me think. How can we soar towards Heaven like the birds? Wouldn’t we have to ride their wings? They looked down at me with a smile and carried me back to the house.
I still make a yearly trip to my grandparents house. It’s empty now, they’ve passed on. Now 25, I tell myself that I was just a child back then - young, innocent. Wide-eyed, full of imagination. But the lesson I learned that night still lingers. Freedom is something everyone should have no matter how old or young. Regardless of race, religion.
Sitting on the back porch, I look towards the sky and smile. Birds soaring towards Heaven. No longer caged, once again tasting freedom.
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